


Teenage Dirtbag

by macymacymacy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Burnout Mickey, Cheerleader Ian, Childhood Trauma, Coming Out, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich Friendship, M/M, Musician Mickey Milkovich, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 48,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29373936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macymacymacy/pseuds/macymacymacy
Summary: The year is 1999. Ian Gallagher is 17 and co-captain of the Lincoln Grove High School cheer squad alongside his best friend Mandy Milkovich. Still deep in the closet, Ian and Mandy have an arrangement: to the outside world, they’re madly in love, two crazy kids from broken homes. Ian keeps the pervs away from Mandy, and Mandy keeps the homophobic meatheads away from Ian. When Mandy’s older brother Mickey is released from jail after serving a year for possession, they re-form their family band “Spilled Milk” with their older brothers Iggy and Colin. Ian starts tagging along after cheer practice to watch Mandy and her brothers rehearse, and quickly finds himself falling for the blue-eyed, tattooed, perpetually grumpy guitarist. Is his crush as unrequited as it seems, or could the youngest Milkovich brother be hiding a secret beneath his hardened rock-and-roll jailbird facade?
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 25
Kudos: 64





	1. The Kids Aren't Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my very first published fic! I can't wait to hear your thoughts in the comments.
> 
> A few things before we start:
> 
> \- In every chapter, there will be references to Ian's photography. You can find the pictures at iansphotobook.tumblr.com, and they will be hyperlinked where they are referenced.  
> \- There will be a Spotify playlist of all the songs mentioned or referenced in the story that will be updated with each chapter. It will be linked on the photobook blog and within the fic for easy access. There will also be YouTube links after each set of lyrics or song reference for those that don't use Spotify! (Thank you to grayola, aka gallavichy on tumblr, author of "Like Real People Do" and "Cooperative Gameplay" for inspiring me to make a playlist for this fic!)  
> \- The concept for this fic was inspired by Belle (prettyboy-ian on tumblr) and their post about a Gallavich AU loosely based on the song "Teenage Dirtbag" by Wheatus.  
> \- Mandy's characterization in this fic is slightly canon-divergent. Think Emma Greenwell's snark with Jane Levy's bubbly attitude. For visual purposes, Mandy looks exactly as she does in Season 2.  
> \- The characterization of Laura Milkovich throughout this fic is of my own creation, but her presence does not majorly alter any of the Milkovich kids' established personalities. Rather, her existence offers up explanations for some of Mickey and Mandy's behavior throughout the story.  
> \- There will be general references to violence, specifically violence towards the Milkovich children in their youth. There will not be any graphic descriptions of the abuse, but rather general statements. There is more discussion of the impact of the abuse on the Milkovich kids rather than re-hashing of the abuse itself.  
> \- This is a slow burn fic at its core, so please be patient! I promise you will not be disappointed.
> 
> Let's get in to it!

**Chicago’s Southside Neighborhood, Late August 1999** **  
**

Ian was jolted awake by two tiny hands grabbing his ankles from under the covers.

“Liam?” he asked, pulling his plaid comforter to the side to reveal the giggling toddler pulling at his toes. Ian smiled at his youngest brother, then proceeded to scoop him up and tickle him until they were rolling around in the bed.

“Ian?” Fiona yelled from the kitchen downstairs. “Is Liam up?”

“Yeah, I got him!” he yelled back, wrapping Liam up in a giant hug before getting up to help the 3 year old get dressed. He opened their shared dresser and pulled out a green and yellow striped t-shirt and pair of light-wash denim jeans that had belonged to all of the Gallagher brothers in years past. He wrestled Liam into the well-worn outfit, the toddler kicking and protesting all the while. Once the boys were dressed, they made their way into the kitchen where they were greeted with the familiar sights and sounds of Gallagher morning chaos.

Fiona, his eldest sister, was wearing a pair of black jeans, battered converse, and a gray t-shirt with black letters on the left side of her chest that read “Patsy’s Pies”. Her sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as she shuffled around the kitchen, wrapping PB&J sandwiches in aluminum foil and tossing them in brown paper bags. 

His older brother Lip was away at college but usually came home during the weekends to help babysit Liam while Fiona clocked overtime and the rest of the kids were busy with extracurriculars. His younger brother Carl had recently taken up karate at the suggestion of their family social worker after an incident at school involving Carl’s fists and another student’s fractured jaw. Debbie, his other sister, had been volunteering at the local animal shelter for the past few weeks, trying desperately to catch the attention of the boy whose parents ran the rescue. She had also been trying just as fervently to convince Fiona to let them adopt a pet, to which Fiona had simply said, “Hell fucking no.”

The younger Gallaghers were fighting over a gallon of orange juice and a giant plate of eggs, prompting Fiona to gently whack each of them on the back of the head.

“No fighting! Finish eating and get to school.” She turned towards Ian, who stood at the bottom of the staircase in his pajamas, cradling Liam in his arms. “There’s my little chocolate chip muffin!” she exclaimed, taking Liam from Ian’s arms and nuzzling his face with her own. She turned to Ian and ruffled his hair. “And my favorite slice of carrot cake,” she teased, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Ian groaned but grinned, grabbing a piece of bread from the open bag on the countertop and using it to hold a heaping spoonful of scrambled eggs. He squirted a dollop of ketchup on to the eggs and slapped another untoasted piece of bread on top, to which Debbie and Carl both responded with dramatic “ews”. Ian flipped off his two younger siblings with a smile before heading back upstairs to get dressed.

Once he was upstairs and his abomination of a breakfast sandwich was inhaled, he pulled on yesterday’s jeans and rifled through the closet for a fresh t-shirt. His options were limited, since Lip had taken most of their shared wardrobe with him to Chicago Polytechnic. He settled on a plain white t-shirt and his trusted denim jacket with the rips in the sleeves. He finished getting ready, then grabbed his backpack and his Lincoln Grove Lions duffel bag and went back downstairs.

Fiona was shoving Carl and Debbie out the front door so they could catch the bus. Liam was balanced on her hip, giggling. The remnants of breakfast were scattered across the kitchen. It was a familiar, comforting sense of chaos that made Ian feel weirdly at peace. If nothing else, his erratic home life would always be a constant.

He followed Carl and Debbie out of the front door, stopping for a moment to let Fiona kiss his cheek once more, nuzzling Liam’s nose with his own before smooching his littlest brother on the forehead and running out the door. Lincoln Grove was closer to the Gallagher house than Debbie and Carl’s middle school. Most days he would walk straight to school from the house, but as of lately he’d been making a detour down North Wallace, across the alley, and down the street to the broken-down house next to a particularly grimey stretch of the L track.

Houses on the Southside of Chicago weren’t known for their aesthetic appeal, but 1955 South Trumbull put them all to shame. Broken furniture littered the front lawn, empty plastic cups were strewn from the fence to the porch, and a broken trampoline was half-collapsed against the chain-link fence that surrounded the run-down residence. The Milkoviches had a reputation as a terrifying, violent family full of drug dealers and gun runners that wouldn’t hesitate to beat the shit out of anyone that crossed them. Ian knew it best not to knock on this particular door. His varsity bag, holding his cheer uniform and hairspray, would guarantee a beating.

He pulled a plastic whistle he’d stolen from the Kash and Grab convenience store out of his jacket pocket and blew it three times from across the street. He crouched behind a trash can, poking his head up just high enough to see the Milkovich porch. Moments later, the youngest Milkovich came bounding out the door, yelling something inaudible at someone inside before slamming the door behind her and bouncing down the stairs. She spotted Ian across the street and jogged over to meet him.

“Morning, Mandy,” Ian said cheerfully, his face breaking into a smile at the sight of his friend.

“Morning, lover,” Mandy said, planting a kiss on his lips, taking Ian by surprise.

“What was that for?” he asked as she pulled away. Mandy smirked wickedly, her eyes bright with a mischievous sparkle.

“I just felt like kissing my boyfriend,” she said, grabbing Ian’s hand before leading him away down the street towards the high school.

They weren’t really dating, but they were the only ones that knew that. To everyone else, Ian and Mandy had been together as a couple for the past eight months or so and were hopelessly in love. Mandy had had a crush on Ian since they were kids, sharing popsicles at the public pool with the rest of the latchkey kids. As they grew up, they grew apart, until they were practically strangers all together. They had a few mutual friends and a class together once or twice a year, but never saw much of each other outside of school. The Gallaghers avoided the Milkoviches like the plague, even if none of the kids really understood why. Something about Ian’s deadbeat, alcoholic father Frank owing Mandy’s terrifying, infamously violent father six or seven grand. Or maybe it was Terry that owed Frank money? Either way, Ian and Mandy’s lives rarely intertwined as the years passed by. That is, until the last week of their sophomore year.

** Late May 1998  **

Ian had made the spontaneous and quite frankly uncharacteristic decision to try out for the Lincoln Grove cheer squad (go Lions!). It wasn’t something he would have done under normal circumstances, but given how his sophomore year had gone, he needed a change. He couldn’t run track anymore, not after what happened with Roger Spikey in the locker rooms that past March. He had played football as a kid, but the team at Lincoln Grove was made up entirely of aggressively homophobic meatheads. Fearing for his life every day wasn’t exactly on his high school bucket list. Theater was out of the question, since he’d rather chew broken glass than recite sonnets to an audience of his peers. Still, all of the Gallagher kids had to have an extracurricular of some sort. It was Fiona’s rule, part of her “if you can’t work, you can still contribute” approach to parenting. The busier she kept the kids, the less likely they were to get into trouble. The less often the kids were in trouble, the less time Fiona had to spend running between the diner and “extremely urgent” parent-teacher conferences, and the more money she could make. The more money they had, the better things seemed to go. 

Ian knew he needed to find something to occupy himself after school, and not only because of Fiona’s rule. He hated feeling bored and uninspired, something he always felt after too much unstructured free time. He liked routine, he liked structure, and running track had been as beneficial to him as it was to Fiona and the entire Gallagher household.

It was the end of the school year, and since track was off the table, Ian perused the list of offerings on the bulletin board outside the principal’s office. Woodshop, Choir, Basketball, Student Council, on and on the list went and not a single option peaked his interest.

Suddenly, a small hand smacked against the wall beside Ian’s head, startling him so much that he nearly lept out of his skin.

“Ian Gallagher!” the owner of the hand said in a cheerful, flirtatious voice. He turned his head to see Mandy Milkovich leaning against the wall, her hair half crimped and decorated with butterfly clips. She wore a massive smile and looked up at him through her eyelashes with bright, doe-like eyes. He swallowed.

“Mandy?” he said, but it came out as a question.

“Duh, silly!” she said, smacking him on the arm with her free hand. “So, caught you checking out all that our grand school has to offer, didn’t I?” She wagged her eyebrows knowingly.

Ian was utterly confused by Mandy’s friendly, overly familiar tone. They hadn’t said more than a few dozen words to each other in the past year, and even then they usually just talked about homework, so the whole situation made him feel a bit awkward.

Ian chuckled lightly, trying to match Mandy’s energy as best as he could.

“Nothing’s really peaking my interest though,” he said, a hint of teasing sarcasm in his voice, his attempt at diffusing the remaining discomfort he felt.

“You’re not running track anymore?” Mandy asked, twirling an un-crimped piece of hair around her manicured finger.

“Wasn’t really working out,” he said, unintentionally cryptic. The doe-eyed look faded from Mandy and was replaced with one of inquisitiveness. She looked Ian up and down as if searching for a previously unseen cast or leg brace that would explain his decision to give up an extracurricular he’d done since middle school. None such ailment existed.

“That’s a bummer,” Mandy said, making a dramatic pouty face that Ian couldn’t help but grin at.

“Yeah, well, you know.” He cringed internally at his awkward and lackluster response.

Suddenly, Mandy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and she swung a tiny fist into Ian’s upper arm.

“Ian! Oh my god! I have an idea!” Her eyes gleamed as she smiled, her eyebrows waggling mischievously yet again. She waited a beat for Ian to respond, and when he didn’t, she giggled and rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to ask me what my idea is,” she said, smirking.

Ian laughed. Fuck it. If Mandy Milkovich wanted to act like they had been friends forever, then that was fine with Ian. He didn’t have many friends, mostly just Lip, and of course Fiona when she wasn’t busy running the house and keeping them all alive.

“What’s your brilliant idea?” he asked, and couldn’t help but smile when he saw how excited Mandy was about his sudden receptiveness.

“Well, I’m about to be junior captain of the cheer squad, and the senior captains desperately want more guys to join for next year.”

“Cheerleading?” Ian asked incredulously, the very idea making his head spin. Gallaghers weren’t cheerleaders. Milkoviches weren’t either, to be fair, but Mandy was a bit of a dark horse compared to her brothers. Being the baby of the family also helped, Ian assumed.

“Yes, dummy, cheerleading! And before you say no, it’s a totally legit sport! Male cheerleaders are ripped. You’d probably be in better shape doing cheer than you’d ever be in doing track, and I’m willing to bet you’re a lot stronger than those skinny arms let on,” she said, grabbing his bicep and giving it a squeeze.

“I don’t know Mandy, I don’t think--” Mandy cut him off.

“And it isn’t true about all of them being gay! All the guys I know and who I’ve met at competitions are total casanovas, pulling in girls left and right.” She giggled, clearly reminiscing on fond memories passed.

Ian swallowed hard, not daring to tell Mandy that pulling girls wasn’t exactly on his high school to-do list either. He wasn’t able to respond before Mandy was talking again.

“Listen, you don’t have to say yes right now. Come to practice after school, and let me convince you, alright?” The doe-eyed expression had returned to her face, and Ian fought the urge to roll his eyes and grin. Mandy Milkovich was SO barking up the wrong tree. He sighed, resigning himself to the inevitability of what was about to happen.

“Okay, sure,” he said, shrugging. Mandy squealed and wrapped her arms around Ian, who stood stick straight and unmoving as Mandy bounced up and down on her toes and squeezed him with a startling amount of strength. She smelled like Bath & Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar body spray. He recognized it because it’s what Fiona used to wear years before, until one of her long-gone boyfriends had given her a bottle of Clinique’s “Happy” perfume that she lauded as “much more adult”. The familiar scent had Ian feeling strangely at ease, despite the shocking death-grip Mandy had around his ribcage.

“You’re my knight in shining armor, Ian Gallagher!” She squealed again, then shook her hands a little to calm herself. “Three o’clock, soccer field behind the gym, be there!”

“I’ll be there,” he said, a half-smirk spreading across his face as he watched Mandy skip away, waving to her friends in the hallway, before spinning around one last time and flashing Ian a smile before disappearing through the double doors.

Ian let out a sigh, processing everything that had just happened. Did he seriously just agree to try out for the cheer squad because Mandy Milkovich asked him to? Mandy Milkovich, daughter of Terrifying Terry Milkovich, sister of the neighborhood’s most feared drug dealing gang of brothers? His head was spinning as he made his way to Algebra 2, his thoughts of what lay ahead that afternoon quickly replaced with algorithms and theorems. Try as he did, math was something that just didn’t click in Ian’s mind. He spent the last hour of the school day trying desperately to understand polynomial factorization until the shrill toll of the bell announced that the day was done, and he was free to do as he pleased.

Ian had a little less than an hour to kill before the tryouts and decided to get a snack from one of the vending machines in the cafeteria. There were very few options, so he settled on a pack of powdered donut holes and a diet Coke. Probably not the healthiest choice given that Mandy was inevitably going to make him sis-boom-bah his way through some choreographed routine in 45 minutes. He found an empty bench outside in the courtyard covered by the shade of an overgrown tree and sat down to eat his snack and listen to his copy of ‘NSYNC’s self-titled album on his walkman. To be completely honest, the band’s music wasn’t really here nor there for Ian. He would never admit it to another soul, but he had primarily bought the CD for the photo inserts and complimentary posters that came inside the case. It was the only way he could get his hands on a photo of Justin Timberlake without having to steal a Tiger Beat from the Kash and Grab and risk Lip finding it under his mattress when he came home for the weekend.

He sat on the bench for a half-hour, listening and working on homework. 

> _“You're all I ever wanted, you're all I ever needed, yeah, so tell me what to do now, when I want you back...” ([click here for the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5CWGksc2glFfSoRpKl3CMJ?si=b5f661e2a0aa4473)) ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=is6gtilerPk&ab_channel=NSYNCVEVO))_

As “I Want You Back” faded out and “Everything I Own” began, he felt two tiny hands slap down on his shoulders. ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YypK8qv7lRc&ab_channel=%2aNSYNC-Topic))

“Guess who?” Mandy exclaimed, shaking Ian’s shoulders.

“Leonardo DiCaprio?” Ian said sarcastically. Mandy pushed his shoulder and laughed.

“Ugh, I wish!”

It wasn’t until this moment, with Mandy suddenly standing in front of him, that Ian realized she had changed outfits and re-done her hair. She was wearing a black and red cheer uniform with “LGHS” across the chest in large white letters. The red skirt was pleated and scandalously short, definitely not dress-code compliant during school hours. Apparently the squad was allowed to abide by different rules when it came to their uniforms. She had a black duffel slung over her shoulder stuffed with what Ian could only assume was pom-poms and hairspray. Glitter too, probably, if the sparkly sheen that coated Mandy’s ponytail and eyelids was any indication. The side of the duffel read “M. Milkovich” in red letters. It matched her black sneakers, which were tied up by custom red laces with tiny white pom poms at the end. Looking at Mandy in this exact moment, you would never guess where she came from or what her home life looked like. She looked like every other girl on the squad, beaming with school spirit and bubbling over with pep. It was truly remarkable how transformative this was for Mandy. It was as if she became a brand new person in her uniform, even brighter and bolder than before.

“Cute outfit,” was all that came out of Ian’s mouth as he gave Mandy a once-over.

Mandy giggled.

“Wait until you get to see what you’ll be wearing,” she said with a cheesy grin, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh so I’m on the team now?” Ian asked, meeting Mandy’s impish energy with his own sarcastic teasing.

“Squad, dumbass, not team,” Mandy corrected, plopping down on the bench next to him. “And not yet. You’ve already impressed me, but now you have to impress the senior captains.”

“I’ve impressed you?” he asked, scooting over to give Mandy more room to sit.

“You’re still here, right? You didn’t run screaming for the hills? Most guys would have bolted. Not you, though. You’re different.” She leaned in towards Ian and put her head on his shoulder. “You’re sweet, Ian Gallagher.”

Ian chuckled awkwardly to himself. How was he supposed to respond to that? Mandy glanced up at him with that doe-eyed expression again.

“Thanks,” was all he said, and even Mandy rolled her eyes at that one. She lifted her head from his shoulder and sat up straight.

“What are you listening to?” Mandy said as she reached for Ian’s headphones. She slid them over her slicked-back hair and was greeted by the sound of “Tearin’ Up My Heart” playing, as the CD had made its way back to the beginning. ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ZcmuKsyvzg&ab_channel=NSYNCVEVO))

“No fucking way,” Mandy said, giggling to herself like a toddler. “‘NSYNC? Ian Gallagher you are a man of many surprises. And taste!”

Ian laughed, glad that his choice of music amused Mandy.

“Yeah, they’re alright. My little sister Debbie has a crush on Justin Timberlake.”

“What?” Mandy said, exasperated. “No way!”

Ian gave her a confused look. She giggled. 

“JC Chasez! He’s got those bad boy vibes. Justin is too...I dunno, good? Wholesome?” Mandy shrugged away her contemplations and smacked Ian’s knee.

“Anyway, we should get going. Don’t wanna be late and make a bad first impression on Tiffany and Iris!” Ian assumed those were the names of the senior captains to-be.

Throwing his walkman, textbooks, and the remnants of his snack in his backpack, he didn’t pull away when Mandy grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the soccer field behind the gym and into the belly of the beast.

** Late June 1998  **

As it turned out, Ian was really good at cheerleading. He was strong, naturally muscular, tall, and surprisingly coordinated. All these qualities combined made him an asset, which inevitably led to the squad embracing him as one of their own from the moment he walked on the field. Of course, it was Mandy who embraced him the most, glomming on to him in any way she could. Ian very easily could have found Mandy’s innate clinginess abrasive or off putting, but instead he found it endearing. He liked feeling wanted and needed, by the squad and by his new friend. It was barely a week before the two of them were joined at the hip, acting like they’d been best friends since birth.

Fiona could not have been happier with Ian’s new summer plans, and after her initial hesitation - _cheerleading? Really? You sure that’s a good idea?_ \- she was fully on board. In fact, it took her longer to come around to the fact that he was suddenly besties with Mandy Milkovich than it did to her accepting him quitting track for cheer. 

“You know those Milkoviches are bad news, right?” she said to him one afternoon while she cut up carrots and grapes for Liam, who was watching “Batman: The Animated Series” on the couch with Debbie and Carl. 

It was about a month after Ian had joined the squad. Monday through Friday, 8am to 2pm, the squad met in the school gym for practices. Even though Lincoln Grove was closed for the summer, the gym, cafeteria, and other common spaces were left unlocked during the day for various teams and clubs to utilize at their leisure. Today was a Saturday, Fiona was scheduled for a double at Patsy’s, and Ian was in charge of the kids, which basically meant keeping Carl and Debbie from killing each other and Liam from choking to death on his Dunkaroos.

“Sure, I guess,” Ian said, not fully paying attention to Fiona as he dug through the hamper for a clean pair of boxer briefs.

“Ian,” she said, her tone shifting abruptly from sisterly to maternal. He turned around and the two siblings locked eyes.

“What?” he said, eyebrows raised.

“I just want you to be careful, okay? Terry Milkovich is a scary sonofabitch, and his half-wit sons are no better. I told you about the time they put Mr. Patel in the hospital, right?”

Ian nodded. He had heard the stories. He didn’t need a reminder of how scary the Milkoviches were; he was reminded every time he hid behind the trash cans and blew the stolen whistle. Fiona set down the paring knife, walked over to her brother, and put both of her hands on his shoulders.

“I’m sure Mandy is a really nice girl, but please be smart. I don’t need another rugrat runnin’ around here when I already have all of you to take care of.”

Ian laughed through his nose, to which Fiona responded with a grin and a squeeze of his shoulders. If only she knew how ridiculous her warning truly was.

“I’m serious!” she said, “no funny business, you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Ian laughed. He snatched up a pair of blue underwear and jogged back upstairs to change.

Even though he was in charge of the kids that day and couldn’t leave the house, Mandy had offered to come over that morning and practice their routines in the yard, since it was still warm enough for the younger ones to go swimming, thus keeping them out of his hair for at least an hour. It was the first time a Milkovich would be coming over to the Gallagher house without the intention of taking a baseball bat to deadbeat Frank’s kneecaps, and Fiona wasn’t going to be there, which understandably made her nervous. But Ian knew Mandy well enough by this point to know that she was nothing like the rest of her family, at least based on what he knew about them.

Mandy loved to talk. In fact, she rarely stopped talking. She would talk Ian’s ear off all day long about who was cheating on who at school and who gave everyone pink eye on the gymnastics team and whatever other thoughts popped into her head. But despite the near-constant word vomit, Ian rarely heard Mandy talk about her family. He was curious, but he never had the nerve to ask her any questions about them. Besides, she had only cornered him by the bulletin board and talked him in to trying out for the squad a month ago. They hadn’t known each other long enough for him to have the right to broach that subject. Right? Ian wasn’t sure. He didn’t have many friends growing up aside from Lip and of course Fiona, and navigating a new friendship was awkward at best for him.

Fiona left for work after giving each of the kids a kiss on the forehead, much to Ian and Carl’s chagrin. Less than a half hour later, the doorbell rang, followed by a quick, forceful knock. Ian lifted Liam off of his lap and went to answer the door.

When he opened it, he was surprised by what he saw. Mandy stood in front of him, hair slicked back in her signature cheer pony, held together with a black and red scrunchie. She wasn’t in her practice clothes as he had expected her to be. Instead, she wore an oversized AC/DC t-shirt with a small rip below the neckline, black jeans, black combat boots, and a distressed denim jacket. She looked like the Mandy he knew as a passerby years before, angsty and loud-mouthed, the spitting image of her older brothers.

The biggest difference between the Mandy he knew of in middle school and the Mandy that stood before him now was her eyes. The Mandy on his doorstep had been crying. Her usually clear, bright blue eyes were cloudy, filled with tears, red-rimmed and threatening to overflow again at a moment’s notice.

“Mandy,” Ian said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I come in?” she asked, as if she had forgotten that Ian was expecting her.

“Of course, totally,” Ian said, opening the door all the way and letting Mandy cross the threshold. He knew that if he were in Mandy’s shoes, he wouldn’t want to walk into a house full of strangers after a very obvious crying session and be forced to make cordial small talk with middle schoolers. Before he could say anything, though, Mandy turned around and pulled him in for a hug, burying her mascara-stained face in his chest.

Ian stood there for a moment, surprised, before wrapping his arms around his friend and squeezing tightly. When Mandy broke out of the hug a few seconds later, she put a tiny hand on Ian’s chest.

“Can we talk?” she said, her voice low and raspy, barely above a whisper, clearly not wanting to attract the attention of the three kids sitting on the couch, their eyes glued to the TV as Batman foiled yet another one of the Riddler’s plans.

Ian nodded and pointed to the stairs.

“Hey guys, I’ll be right back, okay?” Ian waited for a response from one of his siblings. When none came, he tried again. “Guys?”

“Yeah yeah we heard you! Go make out with your girlfriend,” Carl said, shoving a handful of Doritos in his mouth.

“She’s not my --” Ian was cut off by Mandy grabbing his hand and pulling him up the stairs. Ian took the stairs two by two, passing Mandy on the second level, then invited her into the room he shared with Carl and Liam.

“Cute room,” Mandy said, voice still low and soft. She sat down on Ian’s bed and rubbed her hands across the blue and white plaid comforter.

“Thanks,” Ian said awkwardly, not sure how to start the necessary conversation that loomed on the horizon. The two of them were quiet for a minute, Ian leaning against the closed door and Mandy sitting on his bed, the two of them just staring at each other until it became too tense for Ian to handle.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. He made his way under Carl’s lofted bed and opened the stocked mini-fridge he and Lip had stolen from an estate sale last summer. “We have Sprite and Orange Crush, and I think there might be some root beer downstairs.”

“I’m okay,” Mandy said, forcing a small smile across her chapped lips. They were red and puffy, like her eyes, and looked like she had been chewing on them recently.

Ian sat down on the bed next to Mandy. Their thighs were maybe an inch apart. Should he offer her another hug? Ask her what was wrong? Hold her hand? How did friends comfort friends when they had no idea what was going on?

Before he could make a decision, Mandy spoke.

“My mom died last night.”

The words hit Ian in the chest like a truckload of bricks. It took him a moment to fully process her words, his mind racing a million miles a minute. Her mom? He knew Mandy had a mom, but he didn’t know anything about her. In fact, he was fairly certain he had never even seen her. He had just assumed that she had ditched Mandy and her brothers when they were kids, like his mom did years before. Monica was an addict and suffered from bipolar disorder, an illness she refused to acknowledge and adamantly refused to treat. Ian’s memories of her were muddled, a combination of nostalgic joy and intense pain. Still, everyone knew Monica when she had been around. Her and Frank were the life of the party everywhere they went. 

Two years ago, just before Liam’s first birthday, Monica had left Ian and the rest of the kids in the middle of the night after a neighborhood bonfire. It wasn’t the first time she had disappeared, but it appeared to be the last. Ian, Lip, Carl, and Debbie had passed out on the living room floor. Fiona and Liam had fallen asleep cuddled up on the couch, and Frank was unconscious somewhere in the backyard covered in vomit and animal pee, no doubt. Ian was the first to wake up that morning, and he was the one who found the note Monica left on top of a stack of hundred dollar bills. Drug money, probably, or cash stolen from some poor sucker’s wallet at the Alibi. A peace offering, perhaps, or a last-ditch attempt at providing for the six kids she repeatedly left fending for themselves while she was three sheets to the wind somewhere in Indiana.

_“Fiona, Lip, Ian, Carl, Debbie, and Liam,_

_I love you. I have always loved you. I always wanted to be a good mom to you kids, but I’m not good for any of you. I make things harder, and I don’t know why, but I wish it was different. You’re better off without me. Fiona, take care of them for me. I know you’ll do a better job than I ever could have. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me forever. I love you kids._

_Love,_

_Mom”_

Ian’s mind raced as he remembered the knot in the pit of his stomach as he read his mother’s shakily-written note and counted the money. $1,200, more money than he had ever seen. He folded the note in half and stuck it in his pocket, then pulled down an empty Crisco container at the top of one of the kitchen cabinets. He stuffed the money into one of the envelopes labeled “Squirrel Fund”, put the container back, and went to wake Fiona to tell her the news.

Fiona read the note three times, holding back tears as she skimmed over the chicken scratch apology. She wiped her eyes once with the back of her hand, sniffed loudly, and cleared her throat. She looked Ian in the eyes with so much intensity, anger, and fear that it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“She never gave a shit about us,” Fiona said, masking her rage with a steely demeanor. “Fucking Monica,” she said quietly, before crumpling up the paper in her hands and setting it down in the ashtray. She laced her fingers together and pressed her hands to her forehead, processing the heaviness that hung in the air. Ian sat down next to her, thighs an inch apart, and put his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s all gonna work out, Fi,” he said, doing his best to comfort his sister. She had already been raising them single-handedly since Monica ran out the first time, back in 1985. She was only 9 at the time, taking care of 4-year-old Lip and 3-year-old Ian while Monica was AWOL and Frank was on a bender somewhere. It was a week before DCFS showed up on the doorstep of 2119 North Wallace, and only after Fiona’s school had reported her four consecutive absences. It would happen again three more times before Fiona’s twelfth birthday, five by her sweet sixteen. Now, weeks shy of her 21st birthday, Monica was in the wind once again. Only this time, her return seemed unlikely.

Ian sat there in silence with a distressed Fiona until the rest of the kids started to wake up. She reached up and squeezed his hand, rubbing her thumb back and forth against his knuckles.

“I love you, Ian,” she said. “You and Lip, you’re my rocks. I can’t do this without you.” Tears filled her eyes, seconds away from spilling on to her cheeks. Ian looked at his sister, saw the fear of the unknown in her eyes, and his heart sank.

“You won’t have to,” he assured her. His words were some of the most genuine, heartfelt ones he’d ever spoken, and he meant what he said. It didn’t all have to fall on Fiona. If he could help ease the burden she carried in even the smallest way, he’d do it.

Pulling himself from the recesses of his memories, Ian came back to the present. He sat on his bed next to Mandy, the full-body deja vu slowly fading. Of all the thoughts that spun in his brain, the only one he could grasp was the same he had when Fiona looked at him with desperate eyes two years before. If there was something he could do for someone he cared about, he would do it.

He put his hand on Mandy’s shoulder as he had done with Fiona.

“Mandy,” he said, voice soft and gentle. “I’m so sorry.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, watching as the corners of Mandy’s mouth twitched as if she was trying to form words.

“Yeah,” she said finally, her voice shaky. “I mean, no. I don’t know. I think so.” Ian slid the rest of his arm around Mandy’s shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. Because of their height difference, Mandy’s head landed square against Ian’s chest, her ear pressed up against his heart. He put his hand on the back of her head and held her gently as she cried softly for a minute or two.

When she was done, she pulled back so that her and Ian’s eyes were level. They stared at each other for a few seconds, deja vu wafting over him as he took in the dark-haired, pink-cheeked, tear-stained girl in front of him. Suddenly, Mandy leaned forward and pressed her lips to Ian’s. Ian froze, unsure of his next move. Once his brain started working again, he put his hands on Mandy’s shoulders and gently moved her away. Their lips separated with a pop and Mandy’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at Ian, perplexed.

“Mandy,” Ian said. He paused for a minute, panic suddenly coursing through his veins.

“What the fuck?” Mandy said. She didn’t look angry, just confused. Okay, maybe she looked a little angry, or at least a little upset, but she definitely wasn’t about to wind up and throw fists at his head.

“Mandy, I...I’m not…”

“Not into me?”

“God no, Mandy, no, it’s not that, it’s just...I…” Ian fumbled for the words, racking his brain in an attempt to come up with something, _anything_ other than the truth. Try as he might, nothing came to mind. 

There was something in Mandy’s eyes that made Ian stop and consider, just for a second, if Mandy was good at keeping secrets. The way she remained so cagey about her family up to this point made him think that she was. He considered, feeling the awkward silence growing between himself and Mandy, and decided, fuck it. It would happen now or it would happen later but eventually, if he and Mandy were to remain friends, she would have to know.

He took a deep breath.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked her. A small smile crept across Mandy’s lips, the confusion fading from her face to make room for curiosity.

“Ian,” she said teasingly. “Do you even know me at all?” It was a silly question, since by normal standards they’d barely spent enough time together to really _know_ each other beyond warm acquaintanceship. Realistically, though, Ian knew he and Mandy had more in common than either of them wanted to admit. Their lives were reflections of one another, despite neither of them discovering the depth of that truth until much later.

Ian was satisfied with Mandy’s apparent confidence in the strength of their newfound friendship. He took another breath before trying and failing to look Mandy in the eye as he said the words. Instead, he looked down at the comforter. He steadied his breath as he closed his eyes and opened the door that he knew could never be shut.

“I’m gay,” he said, the words spilling out so quickly they were barely comprehensible, hanging stagnant in the air around them like a cloud of smoke.

He opened his eyes slowly and glanced up at Mandy. When he met her gaze, a smile broke out across her face.

“ _Really?_ ” she said, her smile growing. She looked like Ian had just told her something simultaneously unbelievable and ridiculous, but not in a bad way. More like he just told her he collects Beanie Babies on the down low or was an official member of the Hanson Fan Club. Something that wasn’t bad or horrific, just maybe a little embarrassing to share. It baffled Ian. To him, this was his deepest, darkest secret. This was the secret he had planned to take to his grave until the Roger Spikey incident, and even now he wasn’t stupid enough to think flaunting this piece of information around up and down the streets of Canaryville was no big deal. But to Mandy, it seemed to be much simpler. The terrifying monster Ian had built up in his mind was suddenly reduced to a harmless, dirty little secret to be shared at a sleepover between giggling teenagers, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Yeah, really.” He was growing even more confused by the array of expressions flashing across Mandy’s face. Remembrance, confusion, realization, curiosity, joy? Was there a hint of joy on her face? There was definitely joy in her voice when she spoke.

“Ian, that’s awesome. Really, I’m glad you told me. I had honestly been wondering why you hadn’t made a move on me yet, us hanging out so much and everything. I mean, most guys try to jump me on the first date, and you never even asked me on one, which I thought was so weird at first, but now it all kinda makes sense, you know?”

Ian sat there, mouth slightly opened, gaping at Mandy. The ease with which she accepted his confession was baffling. 

“Anyway, uh, sorry I kissed you. I was just...I dunno, upset. Scared. I don’t know. It was dumb and I’m sorry.” Mandy was suddenly shyer and smaller in this moment than Ian had ever seen her.

“Mandy, seriously. It’s fine. I get it.”

“Swear?”

“Swear.”

Mandy smiled a tiny smile and leaned her head against Ian’s shoulder. She put her hand on top of his, which was resting on his upper thigh. The weight of her hand held no implications other than comfort, as Mandy had already fully reconciled Ian’s confession, something that was still leaving Ian reeling. He had expected a bigger reaction, and instead received Mandy’s soft and warm validation. He felt the hot, stinging sensation of happy tears forming in the corner of his eyes. 

Someone knew his secret. Someone knew the secret that kept him up at night, worrying, rifling through what-ifs and never-could-be scenarios. He told someone, and that someone was rubbing her thumb back and forth across the back of his hand, the same way Fiona did the day Monica left. That someone had come to him in their time of need, because they trusted him. Mandy trusted him, and he very obviously trusted Mandy, even if it hadn’t been crystal clear to him until a moment ago.

They sat there for a minute longer, until Mandy began sniffling.

“Hey,” Ian said, wriggling from beneath the weight of Mandy’s head on his shoulder. “Hey, Mandy, it’s okay.”

Mandy sat up straight and stifled her tears as best as she could. Now that Ian’s confession had processed, she was back to thinking about the original, all-consuming reason for her visit. Her mother’s death the night before, which still felt like a dream to Mandy.

They sat on Ian’s bed for a while, and Mandy blew her nose with the tissues Ian had grabbed from the bathroom, and for a while it was silent. It wasn’t awkward, just quiet. Peaceful. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of something clattering to the ground downstairs.

“One second,” Ian said to Mandy as he hopped up off the bed and flew down the stairs. In the living room, Liam had knocked over a tower of Lego blocks he and Carl had been working on earlier that morning. Debbie and Carl were on the floor picking them up while Liam stood by, confused, possibly a little bit scared by the sound of the tower falling. Ian scooped him up in his arms.

“You good, buddy?” he asked, rocking Liam back and forth and holding his head against his shoulder. Liam was a sensitive kid and easily startled.

“He’s fine,” Carl snapped, irritated. “He fucked up our command center, though.”

Ian did his best not to laugh.

“It isn’t life or death, bro. You can rebuild it.” He grinned as Carl rolled his eyes. The pre-teen energy was coming in strong with this one.

Ian cleared his throat after he set Liam back down on the couch.

“Hey, are you two good to watch Liam for a little bit while I talk to Mandy?”

“Is that code for _kiss_ Mandy?” Carl asked, following up his question with a fish face and exaggerated kissing noises. Ian snorted.

“No, it’s not code. We’re just friends.”

Carl rolled his eyes and flopped back on the couch next to Liam, who was fixated yet again on The Riddler’s antics.

“We’re good, don’t worry,” Debbie said, giving Ian a sweet smile. “We’ll give you a shout if anyone breaks a bone or if there’s too much blood to soak up with paper towels.”

Ian couldn’t help but laugh at that. He ruffled Debbie’s ginger curls, exact replicas of his at that age, and kissed the top of her head before heading back upstairs.

Back in his room, Mandy was laying down on Ian’s bed, her combat boots hanging over the edge, her head propped up by Ian’s paper thin pillow. She had turned on the clock radio next to Ian’s bed, which was tuned to a station that played Massive Attack’s “Teardrop”. The volume was high enough that Ian could hear the pulsating, rhythmic beats of the song’s bassline through the door before he even opened it and peeked in at his friend.

Mandy’s eyes were closed, the damp, shiny remnants of tears on her cheeks. Quietly, softly, just to herself, she was singing along to the song. Her voice sounded eerily like the female vocalist, only shakier, giving away how much she had probably cried that day.

> _“Love, love is a verb, love is a doing word, fearless on my breath, gentle impulsion,_ _shakes me, makes me lighter, fearless on my breath, teardrop on the fire…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tb0MC0jFv6M&ab_channel=MassiveAttack-Topic))_

Ian stood there for a second, listening to Mandy’s voice cascade around his room, before knocking gently on the doorframe.

“Mandy?” he said before pushing the door all the way open.

Mandy sat up straight, as if startled, before smiling softly when she saw Ian.

“Hey,” she said, patting the bed next to her and swinging her legs around so she was sitting up. Ian sat down beside her.

“Is that offer for a pop still on the table?” Mandy asked, poking Ian’s thigh with her finger. Ian hadn’t noticed until just then but Mandy’s usually perfectly polished manicure was chipped around the edges, as if she had been picking at the lacquer. 

Ian got up and grabbed two Sprites from the mini fridge, handing one to Mandy and keeping one for himself. They drank their pops and listened to the radio, which had switched to “Creep” by Radiohead.

> _“I wish I was special, but I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo, what the hell am I doin' here? I don't belong here…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFkzRNyygfk&ab_channel=Radiohead))_

“My mom loved this song,” Mandy said, a sad smile forming around the lip of the soda can as she sipped her drink. “She loved all their music, but that one was her favorite.”

Ian listened to the song. He knew it well, had heard it many times before. It was one of Fiona’s favorite songs to scream-sing in the kitchen with the kids on Saturday mornings while they made pancakes and bacon. Ian wondered what Mandy thought of when she heard the song. Her mom, obviously. But what memories flooded to the front of her brain when the first drum beat hit? Were they happy ones? Sad ones? Funny ones? He wanted to ask but he didn’t want to seem pushy. Thankfully, Mandy had regained some essence of her typically chatty self, and started reminiscing about the woman Ian knew existed but never met.

“My mom was like, super into music. It was kind of her thing.”

Ian realized quickly that Mandy was in that stage of coping with a loss where she wanted to talk about it, or at least reminisce. Since Ian didn’t know a thing about Mandy’s mom, aside from the fact that she was Mandy’s mom, he was eager to listen. He cared about Mandy, and if she needed to talk about her mother in the wake of her death, Ian would be there to listen. To lighten the load.

“You’ve met my dad, right?” Mandy asked. Ian nodded. Mandy let out a small puff of air through her nose, not quite a snort but in the same area code. “He’s...well, he’s an asshole. The worst kind. I know it probably makes me a horrible person to say this but, part of me wishes it was him, you know?” Ian knew what she was implying. He had heard stories about Terry Milkovich. Everybody had. Everyone knew what kind of man he was: angry, belligerent, violent, drunk 90% of the time and high the other 10%, in and out of jail at the drop of a hat.

“He’s getting out of jail soon,” she continued. She paused for a second and swallowed hard. “I keep thinking that’s what…” Mandy’s voice trailed off. Ian could see the tears welling up in her eyes again.

Mandy took a deep breath and steadied herself again.

“I keep thinking that’s what put her over the edge, you know? What pushed her to use again. She’d been clean for two whole years, ever since my dad went back to prison. And then a month before he gets out, she OD’s. I mean, it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fucking --” Mandy’s voice caught in her throat. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I just...I can’t believe she’s gone, Ian. Everything was great and now it’s shit and I’m just so --” She broke into sobs and buried her face in Ian’s shoulder.

Ian ran his hand along the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair. He let Mandy cry on him for a while, until she pulled back and met his gaze once again.

“Ian, I don’t know what we’re gonna do without her.”

The use of the plural “we” was obviously in reference to Mandy’s brothers. Colin, Iggy, and Mickey, if he remembered correctly. The older two he didn’t know much about, but he had crossed paths with the youngest Milkovich son on several occasions growing up.

“I’m really worried about Mickey,” Mandy said. “The two of them were closer than any of us. They had this bond, I dunno, like some sort of understanding between them. It was like they could read each other’s minds.” She sighed deeply before saying something that broke Ian’s heart clean in half.

“He was the one that found her,” she said, her voice soft. “You know, like, after. Called 9-1-1 and everything. Tried to give her CPR but it was too late.” Her physical demeanor softened, like she was trying to withdraw inside of herself. Tears started rolling down her cheeks again. Ian pulled her close once more, just holding his grieving friend, until eventually Mandy was the one to break their embrace.

“I’m scared, Ian. Once my dad gets out and comes home and mom isn’t there, I don’t...I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Mandy rested her head on Ian’s shoulder once again, wiping the tears from her eyes as the radio began playing “Common People” by Pulp.

> _“You will never understand how it feels to live your life with no meaning or control, and with nowhere left to go, you are amazed that they exist and they burn so bright, whilst you can only wonder why…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuTMWgOduFM&ab_channel=PulpVEVO))_

Ian’s mind wandered, mulling over Mandy’s words, wondering exactly what she meant when she said she was worried. Was she worried about Mickey’s safety? Her own? Terry? He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to push. Mandy had told him more about her family and her home life in the past hour than she had in the past month, and he didn’t want her to clam up again because he asked too many questions.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked her, genuinely concerned.

Mandy nodded, then wiped her cheeks.

“Yes, I’ll be okay. I’ve been dealing with Terry’s shit my whole life. He knows not to fuck with me, not if he wants to keep his balls attached to his body.” She chuckled, her eyes miles away as if remembering something funny from years before.

“What about your brothers?” Ian asked. Mandy’s eyes snapped back to the present.

“It’ll all work out,” she said, her tone cryptic and colder than before. Ian knew this was the time to change the subject or offer a distraction. The mention of her brothers had shifted Mandy’s mood, even though she was the one who brought them up. Still, Ian knew not to push.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, grabbing and squeezing Mandy’s hand. “I have to make lunch for Liam and Debbie and Carl soon. We were going to heat up a frozen pizza, if you want any.” 

A smile crept across Mandy’s face.

“What kind of pizza?” she asked.

“Pepperoni, I think.”

“Okay,” she said, standing up from the bed and leaning over towards the nightstand to turn off the radio. She turned back around and walked up to Ian. She wrapped her arms around his torso and snuggled her head into his chest.

“Thanks,” she said. “For listening. And for trusting me.” The implications of the last four words sent a shiver down his spine, but not out of fear. It was more like the realization of another human being sharing in his deepest, darkest secret was still fresh and new enough to send a nervous _zing_ of electricity through him. Mandy Milkovich had only been a fixture of his life for four short weeks, but deep in his gut, he knew she was there to stay. He took her by the hand and led her downstairs, where they spent the rest of the afternoon sharing pizza with Ian’s siblings and watching cartoons, finding comfort in the simplest things, if only to remind themselves that the world was still spinning.

** August 1998  **

As it would turn out, Mandy’s gut instincts were scarily accurate. A little over a month later, after Laura Milkovich’s makeshift funeral was thrown together by Mandy and her brothers, Terry Milkovich was released from Cook County Correctional. It was barely two weeks after that, smack dab in the middle of August, that Mandy showed up at the Gallagher house to tell Ian about how Mickey had been caught with a bag of drugs on the L and was going to jail for at least a year. 

“He’s a fucking idiot!” Mandy raged, pounding her hands on the countertop where she sat, perched on the ancient bar stool with the wobbly leg. “Who the fuck rides the train to the north side with a baggie full of coke? Like are you _kidding_ me?” Mandy aggressively tore apart a chocolate chip muffin and shoved the pieces in her mouth as if it was the only food she had eaten in days.

“What, you think he wanted to get caught or something?” Ian asked, scraping that morning’s dried eggs off a pan in the sink.

“Fucking probably,” Mandy answered, her mouth full and her eyes fiery. “I mean he isn’t actually stupid. He’s not an idiot at all, and that’s what makes me so goddamn angry. It’s like he was asking to get caught, _asking_ to go to prison. I mean for fuck’s sake, he’s eighteen now! He literally _just_ had his birthday like, a week ago. It isn’t juvie like before, and this shit will show up on his record. I mean, _come on_! What the fuck?” Mandy continued to rage as Ian washed the dishes.

“I don’t get it. Why would anyone _want_ to go to jail?” Ian asked, genuinely confused by Mandy’s interpretation of her brother’s actions.

Mandy sighed. Contemplated. Mulled over the implications of sharing her family’s secrets with Ian, despite trusting him implicitly at this point in their friendship. 

“I know it sounds crazy, and it probably is crazy, but I swear Mickey thinks Terry is gonna try and kill him or something. I mean sure, Terry’s beat the shit out of all of us at one point or another, and sure, Mickey usually got the bulk of it, but I honestly don’t think Terry would do something like that. Not that he wouldn’t kill someone, because he totally would, I just don’t think he would be stupid enough to kill his own son, you know? But Mickey disagrees, apparently.”

Mandy continued shoveling pieces of the demolished muffin in her mouth until only crumbs were left, then continued talking once she had chewed and swallowed.

“He thinks the only place he’s safe from Terry is jail, which is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. But like I said, he’s an adult now. He’s gonna do what he’s gonna do. That’s what Mickey does.”

Ian nodded as if he understood, but deep down he couldn’t understand why anyone would feel safer in prison than in their own home. Sure, there were times growing up where he was terrified of Frank, stumbling in after midnight in a drunken rage, pissed at some stranger from the Alibi who he claimed had conned him out of his last twenty. Frank and Terry were both degenerates, this was an established fact. But Frank never beat them like Terry beat his kids, and he didn’t threaten them, and he didn’t use fear to manipulate them into doing his bidding.

“I’m just pissed at him for leaving us, you know?” Mandy took a sip of water from the mug Ian had given her when she showed up an hour before, a yellow one with the image of a cartoon rooster on the side.

“What do you mean?” he asked, filling the sink with hot, soapy water so the dishes could soak.

“Like, leaving us to deal with Terry and all his shit. It’s so much better when he’s not around. Terry, I mean, not Mickey. Everything's better when Terry’s out of the picture.”

Suddenly, Liam came running into the kitchen, slamming his tiny body against the back of Ian’s legs and nearly knocking the six foot teenager over.

“Whoa! What’s up buddy?” Ian asked, scooping Liam up and putting him on his hip.

“Swim!” Liam said, pulling at his ears with his tiny hands.

“Oh you wanna go swimming?” Ian cooed at his littlest brother, bouncing him up and down. Liam giggled and grabbed Ian’s face. Ian turned to Mandy, who was grinning at the display of innocent brotherly love in front of her.

“You up for a swim?” he asked her. School started the following week, meaning that he and Carl would be charged with taking down the above-ground pool before the colder weather rolled in come September.

“I don’t have a suit,” Mandy said, frowning.

“You can borrow one of Fiona’s,” Ian said, knowing that Fiona would probably have some choice words for him when she found out he had loaned Mandy Milkovich one of her swimsuits. But Fiona was warming up to Mandy, who was over after cheer practice nearly every day, a pattern that would surely continue in the new school year, especially now that Terry was back.

Mandy smiled, welcoming the distraction from the downward spiral that was her life at that moment in time. Ian took Liam upstairs, got him dressed in his swim diaper and Mickey Mouse board shorts, then went to Fiona’s room and pulled a simple black one-piece with a criss-crossed back from the top drawer. Back downstairs, he gave the suit to Mandy, who changed in the downstairs bathroom. Ian took Liam outside, hollering for Debbie and Carl to come join them.

For the next few hours, Ian, Mandy, and the rest of the Gallagher siblings splashed around in the pool, enjoying the last remaining moments of summer. Carl and Ian teamed up against Mandy and Debbie for a game of chicken, in which the girls were victorious. Debbie’s blue boombox sat on the back stairs and blasted “Groove Is in the Heart” by Deee-Lite ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etviGf1uWlg&ab_channel=Deee-Lite)). They danced around in the water, dunked each other, and laughed more than they had in weeks.

After the kids were all tired out, Ian and Mandy hauled them back inside to change out of their suits. Mandy took the boy’s wet swim trunks and Debbie’s frilly pink tankini and threw them in the washing machine before scooping up Liam and blowing raspberries against his cheek.

“I’m gonna go get him dressed, is that cool?” she asked Ian, who was tossing clean clothes at an exhausted Carl and Debbie.

“Of course,” Ian said, pulling a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt over his head. Mandy ran upstairs with a giggling Liam and Ian couldn’t help but smile. Never in a million years did he think he would be where he was in that moment: an almost-high school junior, a cheerleader, and best friends with a Milkovich. If you had told him this was where he’d be a year ago, he probably would have laughed in your face. But life has a way of surprising you, and Ian was realizing that more and more each day.

** One Year Later, End of August 1999  **

In the year that had passed, three things had been established.

First, being a male cheerleader on the Southside of Chicago was like wearing a dartboard on your back. Within the confines of the squad and his family, Ian felt accepted and protected from snide comments and hateful remarks. Unfortunately, the halls of Lincoln Grove offered little protection from the brutally hateful and homophobic words from boys on the football team. Even the track team had started to lay into Ian in the hallways between classes, probably spurred on by some ridiculous lie perpetrated by a jilted Roger Spikey. Whatever. Ian could handle it. He’d dealt with worse. Still, the harassment continued all of fall semester, despite the cheer squad winning more trophies at their district competitions than ever before. The accolades that came along with Ian’s involvement in the squad did nothing to quell the slurs and shoves that waited for him by his locker every morning.

Second, it was apparently impossible for people to believe that a guy and a girl, Ian and Mandy specifically, could be friends without harboring romantic feelings for one another. Every day, someone would ask when Ian would “get up the nerve” to ask Mandy out, and his answer was always the same. “We’re just friends,” he’d say, and he’d be met with snorts or chuckles, everyone believing that they had the situation figured out, that Ian was just shy and needed a push in the right direction.

If only they knew.

The third thing came later, after fall semester was over and winter break had begun. Mandy had finally won over Fiona a couple months back. Every time she was over after school, she helped cook dinner for the kids, tidied up the kitchen and the living room, and even put Liam down for his naps when he needed them. She was kind and thoughtful, a stark contrast to the imagery that surrounded her family, and all of the Gallaghers were soon in love with the chatty, sarcastic, doe-eyed Milkovich girl. Ian often found himself wondering where Mandy’s softness and kindness came from with all that Milkovich blood running through her veins. 

Ian and Mandy sat on Ian’s bed, magazines spread across their laps. Ian sat up against his pillow, head against the wall, legs extended along the length of the bed. Mandy sat against the adjoining wall by the window frame, her legs slung over Ian’s calves.

“Look,” she said, “see? You can’t look at this and tell me that JC isn’t _way_ hotter than Justin.” She tapped a bright red polished fingernail against a photo of ‘NSYNC in one of the several Tiger Beat magazines that had been scattered about. Ian eyed the picture carefully, contemplating.

“That’s just a bad photo,” he said. “It looks like Justin was moving or talking or something when they took it.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mandy said, “keep making excuses for your boyfriend. I’ll just sit here and revel in the fact that _my_ boyfriend is far more photogenic than yours.” She blew a bubble with the gum she had been chewing, leaned over, and popped it in Ian’s face. He flipped her off with a smirk, which sent Mandy into a fit of laughter.

Apparently Mandy’s giggles were enough to alert Fiona to their presence, because moments later the eldest Gallagher was standing on the threshold, shoving the door from a half-open position to fully flush with the wall.

“Hands above the covers!” she said, before she realized that they were already sitting on top of the blankets, fully clothed, practically on opposite sides of the bed. The body parts they did have touching weren’t inherently sexual at all, and Fiona let out a breath.

“Just friends, Fiona, for the millionth time.” Ian rolled his eyes and Mandy covered her mouth to conceal her smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Fiona said, half-teasing. “Just...keep it PG, okay?”

Ian and Mandy nodded, then burst into a fit of giggles when Fiona went back downstairs.

They flipped through their magazines for a moment or two before Mandy slammed hers shut, startling Ian.

“The fuck?” he said, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at a wide-eyed Mandy.

“I just had the best idea,” Mandy said, her voice twice its normal speed. 

“Which is?”

“We should start dating.”

Ian had never been so confused.

“Mandy, I’m gay.” He said it quietly, still not sure if Fiona was totally gone. “You know that.” Mandy waved her hand in the air as if she was fanning away an unpleasant smell.

“That’s irrelevant,” she said. “We don’t actually have to date, we just tell people we’re dating. It could keep those stupid fuckers at school off your back, and the squad would finally lay off us for like, five seconds.”

Ian thought about it for a minute. What Mandy was saying made sense, at least on a very simplistic level. Pretending to date someone, but not really dating them, sounded like something that could get messy and awkward quickly, but the fact that he and Mandy could never actually “accidentally” fall in love or anything made the whole idea a lot less...Ian combed through his brain for the right word. Risky? Yeah, definitely less risky. Ian had taken a whole lot of risks lately, and this one seemed to be the least potentially damning.

“I mean, it’s not a horrible idea. We already spend all of our time together.”

“And it wouldn’t be awkward if we held hands or anything.”

She had a point. They had even gone so far as to cuddle up with each other during family movie nights, inciting an onslaught of kissy noises and “Ian and Mandy, sittin’ in a tree” from Carl. It never bothered them, though, what the Gallagher siblings would say. They knew their relationship was nothing if not entirely platonic.

“I mean…” Ian scrunched up his face, a half-smile spreading across his lips as his eyes and nose wrinkled. “I dunno. You think people would believe it?”

“Probably,” Mandy said, grabbing a magazine from beside Ian and flipping it open. “I mean, you might have to kiss me once in a while, just to keep up appearances.” Mandy’s voice was light-hearted, teasing, a callback to their awkward sort-of kiss a few months prior.

Ian grinned in response to Mandy’s sarcastic wiggling of her eyebrows, then burst out laughing when she started mimicking Carl’s smoochy noises.

“Jesus, Mandy,” he laughed, bumping her gently with his fist. “Okay, fine. Let’s do it. Worst case scenario, it doesn’t work out and we break up.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly, and sent both himself and Mandy into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

And that was that. They celebrated monthly anniversaries, buying and stealing each other silly little gifts and candy to “celebrate”. They held hands in the hallway, gave the other a quick peck after cheer practice to really send it home, and were even voted “Best Couple” in the 1998-1999 school yearbook. When the yearbook committee asked them to submit a photo for the superlatives page the following May, Ian had an idea.

Back in the late 80s, someone had managed to get their hands on a brand new camera. None of the Gallaghers, Frank and Monica included, knew where the camera came from when it appeared on the coffee table one day. Regardless, it was obviously expensive and way too nice to be sitting there with grabby toddler hands around every corner. Fiona hid it on the top of the laundry shelves, behind a box of detergent. There it sat for years, until one day, in 1995, a self-sufficient 13-year-old Ian decided to do his own laundry and found the camera box behind the dryer sheets. He pulled it down, opened it, brought it to Fiona, and begged her to buy him some film. She agreed to “go halfsies” on it with him, so Ian mowed lawns up and down North Wallace until he had saved enough to cover half the cost of a roll of film from the Fotomat on Cermak.

Once he figured out how to use it, there was no stopping him. Sometimes, the novelty would wear off for a couple of months, and the camera would sit on top of his dresser next to his dirty socks, but then something would happen and Ian would think, “I should take a picture of that,” and off and running his obsession was yet again.

Since starting high school, he hadn’t been using the camera very much. It got brought out for birthdays, and [snow days](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/642904323929620480/fiona-20-and-debbie-9-building-a-snowman-at), and truly momentous occasions like the rare [positive parent-teacher conference](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/642904332831965184/debbie-11-and-fiona-22-at-bridgeport-middle) and neighborhood barbecues, but the gaps between finishing a roll and buying a new one grew wider. It had been two months since Ian last touched his camera when the yearbook committee asked them for a photo, and he intended to deliver. He pitched his idea to Mandy, who was fully on board. That weekend, the two of them had a photoshoot in the Gallagher’s backyard, intending to fill the roll so that they could take it to get developed later that day. Most of them were goofy, a few of them were serious, but the one they ended up choosing was Ian’s favorite by far. He and Mandy had sat down in the busted lawn chairs in front of the shrub that climbed the side of the house to have a snack. Mandy had brought out Debbie’s boombox and two cherry popsicles for them to share. The CD she chose would have surprised Ian a year prior, but he had learned a lot about Mandy in the past 12 months. They ate their popsicles and scream-sang the lyrics to “The Kids Aren’t Alright” by The Offspring.

> _“When we were young, the future was so bright (woah-oh), the old neighborhood was so alive (woah-oh), and every kid on the whole damn street (woah-oh), was gonna make it big and not be beat, now the neighborhood's cracked and torn (woah-oh) the kids are grown up, but their lives are worn (woah-oh) how can one little street swallow so many lives?” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7iNbnineUCI&ab_channel=OffspringVEVO))_

Suddenly, in the middle of the chorus, Mandy picked up Ian’s camera and flipped it around. The settings were already adjusted, so she pressed the shutter just as she and Ian were screaming “ _shattered dreams_ ”. The photo that later developed was hysterical to the both of them, with their eyes squeezed shut and their mouths half-open. They agreed it wasn’t the best of the bunch by a photographer’s standards, but it was definitely an accurate representation of them as a “couple”, so they handed it off to the yearbook staff and crossed their fingers. Sure enough, when the yearbooks came out the last week of school, there was their photo, at the top of the superlatives page, between “Most Likely to Succeed” and “Best Hair”. It was all they talked about for the rest of the week, completely and utterly amused by the fact that such a [ridiculous photo](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/642904338815139840/ian-and-mandy-voted-best-couple-by-lincoln) was memorialized forever in a Lincoln Grove yearbook.

Ian took a lot more pictures that summer than he had the year before. [Carl and Mandy on the fourth of July](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/642904336501981184/carl-10-and-mandy-16-on-the-fourth-of-july), [Fiona on a random afternoon in August](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/642905705584656384/fiona-23-on-the-front-porch-summer-1999), anything he felt was memorable. Lately though, everything felt pretty memorable. His fake relationship with Mandy had done a fantastic job of keeping the testosterone-fueled agitators at bay, the two of them had just been voted co-captains of the squad for their senior year, and Ian had picked back up a hobby he loved with a new state of mind. It felt like nothing in the world could screw this up, like the very idea of anything disturbing his newfound peace was utterly ludicrous. 

On the third day of their senior year, an unusually muggy day in mid-August, Ian blew his whistle and Mandy came running down the stairs of the Milkovich house, slamming the door behind her. After planting her surprise kiss on Ian’s lips, she grabbed his hand and swung their arms as they walked to school.

They talked about practice after school and shared Ian’s earbuds, listening to Mandy’s copy of “Nevermind”.

> _“Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be, as a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy, take your time, hurry up, choice is yours, don't be late…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vabnZ9-ex7o&ab_channel=NirvanaVEVO))_

“Oh hey, I almost forgot,” Mandy said abruptly, grabbing Ian’s walkman from his jacket pocket and pressing pause. Ian pulled the earbud from his ear, taking Mandy’s along with it. “Mickey’s getting out of jail tomorrow. Iggy and Colin are gonna drive over to Cook County to pick him up. Terry fucked off a few days ago, probably on a bender, and we’re not expecting him back any time soon, so we’re throwing a party to welcome Mickey back. You wanna come?” Mandy’s eyes were eager and hopeful.

“A party? At your house?” Ian asked. The very idea astonished him. The Milkoviches weren’t exactly party people, unless it involved a bunch of drunken idiots celebrating Terry’s temporary sabbatical from what seemed to be a near-lifelong streak of incarcerations. Other than those drug-fueled ragers, not once had anyone on the Southside been invited to the Milkovich house for a party. Not even a birthday party, Ian realized, wondering why it had taken him that long to make that connection. As far as he knew, Mandy had never had a birthday party. His heart ached for his friend, knowing more now about her fucked up childhood than he ever thought he would. Despite his hesitation, he knew it meant a lot to Mandy. He could see it in her hopeful eyes.

“It’s nothing major, just me, Iggy, Colin, Mickey, a few of our cousins, and hopefully you.” Every once in a while, Mandy would pull out the doe-eyed look from the day of tryouts, knowing that it irritated Ian just enough that he would inevitably agree to whatever she asked just to get her to stop looking at him like that. She knew him well, because that’s exactly what he did.

“Alright, I’ll come. What time?”

Mandy squealed and wrapped Ian up in a hug. It was brief, since the air was so sticky and heavy. Close, prolonged bodily contact would make anyone feel sick on a day like this.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” she said, poking him in the chest.

“Every day,” he replied, slinging his arm around her shoulders as they half-heartedly wrestled and shoved each other back and forth on the sidewalk as they approached the school.

Ian was happy. Happy at school, happy at home, happy with his best friend/fake girlfriend, happy at practice, happy in the evenings curled up on the couch with Fiona and Liam watching Toy Story. It had been one of the best years of his life, despite the bumpy start, and he was determined to make his senior year the same, if not better. As he and Mandy made their way through the main doors of Lincoln Grove and were greeted by classmates and friends, he thought to himself once again, “Nothing could mess this up.”

The doors swung shut behind them.


	2. Smells Like Teen Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just a party. A welcome-home party for an ex-convict with a felony drug conviction, sure, but just a party nonetheless. And as Mandy had said, it was just going to be a few people. Nothing major. Ian could handle that. He could handle anything. He was on top of the world, after all. "Just a party", he muttered to himself over and over again until he slipped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I was hoping to get this chapter up on Wednesday but I wasn't happy with how I ended the first draft and re-wrote about 6,000 words in the last couple of days. I appreciate y'all being so patient with me and I'm going to do my best to get these chapters out on a semi-regular basis! I'll be shooting for every other Saturday but I'll keep y'all updated as time goes on.
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: recreational drug use, underage drinking.
> 
> You can find this chapter's photos at iansphotobook.tumblr.com and the Spotify playlist will be linked below!
> 
> Thank you for all the love on Chapter 1, I hope you like this one just as much!

**Lincoln Grove High School, August 20, 1999**

When the final bell rang on Friday afternoon, Ian met Mandy outside the gym by their lockers. Their responsibilities as co-captains meant that they were responsible for setting up the gym or the soccer field for practice, depending on which was available that day. Fridays were almost always gym days, but since the school’s A/C system was on its last legs, it was somehow even hotter in the gym than it was outside. Mandy had used her lunch hour to convince the soccer team to share the field with them that afternoon, promising that they’d stay out of each other’s way. She’d probably used her doe-eyes, Ian thought to himself as they grabbed the tumbling mats and foam rollers from the supply closet.

“So Jared was really cool with sharing their space with us?” he asked her as they made their way up the stairs to the fields.

“Um, absolutely,” Mandy said in an aggressively matter-of-fact tone. “I mean how could anyone resist these?” she said, immediately pulling out her best flirtatious look and batting her eyelashes, eliciting a laugh from Ian.

“Hey, they got me,” he said, teasingly. Mandy hurled one of the bags of foam rollers up the stairs at Ian, who dodged it with lightning quick reflexes.

“You’re a dumbass,” she said, grinning.

Once they were up on the field, they set up quickly, since the rest of the team would be there in less than 15 minutes.

“Hey, can I ask you for a favor?” Mandy asked as she dragged a tumbling mat to the corner of the field.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“You know how I told you this morning about Mickey’s party?” she said, kicking the mat into place. “What do you think the chances are of Fiona letting us take a pie from Patsy’s? Like, instead of getting a cake from Kroger? Mickey always preferred pie over cake, banana cream specifically, and Patsy’s is his favorite.” She finally got the mat in place and moved on to the second one.

Ian laid out the foam rollers and thought it over.

“Probably pretty good, as long as I don’t tell her it’s for your brother.” Ian smirked and Mandy rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” she giggled. Fiona had grown to love and appreciate Mandy over the past year, the kind-hearted and generous teenager having destroyed all of the Gallagher’s preconceived notions about the youngest Milkovich sibling. Fiona would probably bring Mandy home any pie of her choice on any occasion, but offering up a free pie for Mandy’s brother, a soon-to-be ex-convict with a felony drug conviction, probably wouldn’t go over as well. 

“I’ll just forget to mention that part and I’m sure she’ll say yes,” he said, laying out foam rollers in three foot increments for the rest of the squad.

“Perfect,” Mandy said. “Also, I know I’m already asking a lot of you, but is there any way you could come over early and help me decorate? Nothing major, just some streamers and a few balloons. I made a little banner late last night, too. Debbie let me borrow her Mr. Sketch markers and now I can’t smell anything but black licorice and oranges.” She and Ian laughed.

Debbie was borderline obsessed with Mandy, but in a really sweet way. Mandy was like a slightly edgier Fiona, closer in age and way more transparent about “grown-up” topics like boys and drinking. The two girls had developed a bond over the past year that even perplexed Ian, but he didn’t question it. Despite her salacious past and her middle school reputation, high school senior Mandy was a good influence on Debbie, even if the bulk of her advice on bullies and mean girls was “stab them in the eye”. Truth be told, Mandy was becoming more and more of a fixture at the Gallagher house, partly because of the fact that she and Ian spent all of their time together, and partly because being at the Gallagher house meant Mandy didn’t have to deal with Terry, who was usually drunk and belligerent by the time she got home at night. 

A few minutes after they finished setting up, the squad members began congregating in their practice space. Once everyone was there, they started with warm-ups, including stretches with the foam rollers and laps around the field. They ran drills on lifts and jumps, eventually moving on to stunts, focusing a little extra on basket catches after an accident the week before had left a sophomore named Acacia with a bloody lip. For two and a half hours, the squad lept and spun, tossed and caught, until every single one of them was covered in sweat from head to toe. 

Around 4:30, Mandy and Ian dismissed everyone except the two junior co-captains Buddy and Nikita. The four of them cleaned up the mats and rollers and dragged them back into the gym’s supply closet. Buddy was the only other boy on the team, a former gymnast who had transferred from their rival school Simpson High, who had been unimpressed with Lincoln Grove’s gymnastics team and decided to join the squad. As far as Ian knew, Buddy was as straight as they came, but he followed Ian around at practice like a puppy. Mandy told him it was probably out of admiration, but Ian wasn’t sure. Regardless, as far as the rest of the world knew, Ian was totally straight and wildly in love with Mandy.

They went their separate ways, Buddy and Nikita to a study group at Acacia’s and Ian and Mandy back to the Gallagher house. Fiona had been pulling doubles every other Friday night for the past four months, so it was Ian’s turn to make dinner, get Carl and Debbie to do their homework, and give Liam a bath. Mandy was over almost every day anyway, but she made sure to stick around extra late on Friday nights, alternating between cooking dinner for the Gallagher clan and helping Debbie and Carl with their homework.

That night’s dinner was leftover spaghetti that only needed to be reheated in the microwave, which left everyone with a lot more free time than they were used to. Debbie and Carl finished their homework by 7 and planted themselves in front of the TV for a rerun of “Sabrina the Teenage Witch”. Mandy had already given Liam a bath and dressed him in his favorite dinosaur footie pajamas. The two of them were playing with legos on the living room floor while Ian warmed up everyone’s food.

After dinner, just before 9pm, Ian put Liam to bed, then came downstairs to find Mandy on the couch with Carl and Debbie, a bowl of popcorn being passed back and forth between the three of them.

Ian sat down next to Mandy and grabbed a handful of popcorn, his hands immediately dusty with the white cheddar seasoning. As they sat and watched Melissa Joan Hart fend off monsters from her Halloween party, Mandy leaned her head on Ian’s shoulder.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” Ian answered in a whisper.

“I know I’ve already asked you for like, a thousand favors today, but can I ask you one more?” Her voice was hesitant and fraught, as if she was about to ask him for something crazy, like a kidney or $50,000.

“Sure,” he said, curious. They had the pie, the decorations, and the setup covered. What else was there?

“Tomorrow at the party, would you mind like, not bringing up my mom?”

Ian wrinkled his eyebrows. Mandy’s mom? It had been over a year since she died, and almost a year to the day since Mickey had gone to jail. He didn’t understand why Mandy thought he would bring up Laura in the first place, but he trusted that she was just covering her bases. Maybe Laura was a hot topic with her brothers. She had told him about how close Mickey was to their mom before she died, and how scared he was of Terry. Maybe she just thought it was better not to open that door.  
“It’s just been a touchy subject since she’s been gone,” Mandy added.

“Of course,” Ian replied, wrapping his arm around Mandy’s shoulders. “Whatever you need.”

“Ew, get a room,” Carl said, sticking out his tongue in disgust. Ian flipped him off, making Mandy and Debbie giggle.

About an hour later, Fiona returned from work, banana cream pie in hand. Ian had used the school’s pay phone to call Patsy’s after practice, telling Fiona that Mandy had a craving and that he would pay her back for it later. 

“A craving?” Fiona had said, suspicious. “Mandy’s not pregnant, is she?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Fiona, no. She’s not pregnant. We’re not even having sex.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Fiona had hummed skeptically in reply, agreeing to Ian’s request and reminding him about the no-TV-until-homework-is-done rule, as if that hadn’t been par for the course for the past five years.

Fiona put the pie in the fridge on top of a half-empty bucket of KFC. After going upstairs to change into a pair of shorts and a ratty old Adidas t-shirt, she joined them in the living room, curling up with one of the family’s many well-worn crocheted blankets in the armchair Frank had lifted off the next door neighbors ten years ago.

The five of them sat there, laughing at Salem’s one liners and Aunt Hilda’s funny quips, until the clock hit 10:30.

“Gotta go!” Mandy said, moving the popcorn bowl to Debbie’s lap and leaping up from the couch.

Ian followed her out, handing her one of his hoodies since the temperature had dropped significantly since the sun had gone down.

“You good to come over around three?” Mandy asked when they made their way out to the front porch. She zipped up the hoodie and stuck her hands in the pockets.

“Yep, I’ll be there,” Ian said, pulling Mandy in for a hug.

The two of them squeezed each other tightly, Mandy’s embrace far more forceful than Ian’s. Even though Terry had, as Mandy said, “fucked off a few days before”, the uncertainty of the length of his benders weighed heavy on her mind, and subsequently Ian’s. He knew how much Mandy hated being at the Milkovich house when Terry was around, and why she spent so much time at the Gallagher’s even when Terry was out there doing God knows what.

Mandy rolled up on her toes and planted one small kiss on Ian’s cheek before bouncing down the stairs and walking around the side of the house into the alley that led to South Trumbull. Ian watched her as long as he could, turning to go back inside once Mandy’s shadow disappeared beyond the dumpsters. In the beginnings of their friendship, Ian offered to walk Mandy home almost every single night. Every night she declined his offer, until it just became an unspoken rule that Mandy, despite being five-foot-six on a good day and built like a string bean, preferred to walk home alone. She could definitely handle herself, and nobody in the four blocks between their houses was anyone worth worrying about. Ian just accepted this fact as one of Mandy’s “things”, though it didn’t stop him from worrying about her once she was out of sight. In fact, Ian insisted that Mandy call the Gallagher house phone when she got home safely. She always did, exactly twelve minutes after leaving, almost to the second every single night.

“Home!” she said brightly when Ian answered on the second ring.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied, grinning. “So tomorrow at five, right?” he said, knowing Mandy was probably rolling her eyes right that second.

“Three, asswipe. Tomorrow at three. You show up one second late and I’ll shove a pom pom up your ass.” They both laughed, said their goodbyes, and hung up.

When Ian laid in his bed last night, the reality of what lay ahead dawned on him. Well, not so much dawned on him as fell on him like an anvil. Tomorrow at three he would, for the first time, pass through the threshold of the Milkovich house. Tomorrow at three he would, for the first time, willingly enter into the black hole of rumored terror that was 1955 South Trumbull. Tomorrow at three he would, for the first time, meet Mandy’s siblings, the drug-dealing, gun-running, ass-kicking “brothers Milkovich”. That thought alone made his heart rate spike. He had no idea what he was walking in to, but he knew that after more than a year of friendship and almost nine months of “dating”, interacting with the Milkoviches was inevitable. Might as well rip the band-aid off now when the circumstances were less terrifying than usual. It was just a party. A welcome-home party for an ex-convict with a felony drug conviction, sure, but just a party nonetheless. And as Mandy had said, it was just going to be a few people. Nothing major. Ian could handle that. He could handle anything. He was on top of the world, after all.

“Just a party”, he muttered to himself over and over again until he slipped into unconsciousness.

**The Milkovich House (1955 South Trumbull) August 21, 1999**

Ian checked his watch. 2:58pm. He adjusted his grip on the banana cream pie and shifted his weight from one foot to another. This was the closest he had ever willingly been to the Milkovich house. However scary it looked from behind the garbage cans across the street, it was twice as scary up close. Pieces of plywood, likely stolen from Home Depot, covered one of the front windows that had been shattered near the bottom, as if someone had thrown a brick through it. A large dresser sat on the front porch next to a broken lawn chair and a traffic cone. The broken trampoline was still collapsed on the front lawn, leaning against the chain-link fence.

Ian took a deep breath and pushed open the front gate. It squealed loudly, making Ian flinch as he walked up the concrete path to the front steps. He took them two by two, an easy feat for his “long ass spider legs” as Fiona called them. A doormat on the porch warned visitors to “Beware Of Dog”. Did the Milkoviches have a dog? Oh god, this was going to be interesting.

He knocked on the door three times, then rang the doorbell. There was music playing inside, a song that Ian recognized from a tape Mandy had brought over last spring.

> _ "All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms, words are very unnecessary, they can only do harm…"([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aGSKrC7dGcY&ab_channel=DepecheMode)) ([spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5CWGksc2glFfSoRpKl3CMJ?si=523eac14c3e5451a)) _

He heard footsteps as Mandy made her way from the back of the house to the front. She flung the door open, a huge smile on her face. Her hair was straightened, bangs front and center, the longer pieces pinned back on the right side with two green barrettes. She had hot pink clip-in extensions on the underside of her hair that contrasted sharply with her natural pitch-black locks. Her outfit was one Ian had seen before - the same black jeans with the rips in the knees she had worn a thousand times before, an oversized black t-shirt with the Nirvana smiley face logo on it, and hot pink socks that matched the clip-in extensions. She looked happy, happier than Ian had seen her in a while.

“You’re here!” she squealed, going in for a hug before noticing the aluminum foil covered pie in Ian’s hands. “Ah fuck, I’ll hug you in a second. You can put that on the counter!” She motioned for Ian to come inside. He took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.

The inside of the Milkovich house wasn’t too dissimilar from what he imagined. Sheets and blankets had been nailed above the windows in place of curtains. The living room consisted of two couches, one held together with duct tape and optimism, the other a horrific yellow and green floral print that looked like something you’d find in an antique store. The coffee table had been cleaned off recently, but decades of beer can rings and water damage were evident on the surface. A large entertainment center with the doors removed was against the far wall, overflowing with random items, everything from broken yo-yos to...was that a gun? Of course it was a gun. Ian shouldn’t be surprised by that, but he was. Mandy noticed him eyeing it and went to grab it, shoving it in one of the drawers, out of sight out of mind. 

Past the living room was the dining area, which was basically just one large wooden table with six mismatched chairs, two on each side and one on each end. Beyond that was the kitchen, illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights and the large back window, which was held open with a wooden stick.

Aside from what appeared to be the normal state of the Milkovich residence, Mandy had obviously spent the morning attempting to make the house as festive as possible. Colored streamers hung from the light fixture above the dining room table and Mandy’s banner hung on the wall above the kitchen doorway. In bright block letters, Mandy had written, “Welcome Home Felon!” and decorated the empty space with images of stars, rainbows, flowers, and random swirls and squiggles. The youthful abandon with which Mandy had crafted the banner put a smile on Ian’s face. 

“I like the banner,” he said.

Mandy turned from where she stood and eyed her masterpiece.

“Yeah, it kinda kicks ass,” she said, laughing under her breath. “Anyway, wanna help me blow up balloons after you pop the pie in the fridge?”

Ian nodded and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find it stocked full of Old Style beer, beef jerky (who the hell keeps beef jerky in the fridge?), and pizza boxes. Balancing the pie gently on top of the boxes, Ian shut the fridge and went back out into the living where Mandy was sitting, several bags of dollar store balloons on her lap.

The two of them sat on the ugly flower-print couch, the TV in the entertainment center playing “Dexter’s Laboratory” while they used a helium tank Mandy had grabbed from the pantry (who the hell has a helium tank laying around?) to blow up several dozen brightly colored balloons. 

“What time will everyone be here?” Ian asked, tying pieces of ribbon at the bottom of each balloon to give them the store-bought look, as Mandy had requested. 

“Mickey’s getting released at 4, so Iggy and Colin are already down there ready to pick him up. You know, in case they’re ahead of schedule. Which they probably won’t be. They’re almost always at least an hour behind, but Iggy was feeling optimistic. We told Sully and Lou to head over around six, but they’ll probably show up early with some friends and start shotgunning beers on the porch or some shit like that.”

Ian assumed that Sully and Lou were the Milkovich cousins she had mentioned yesterday. He knew that sometimes their cousins would come crash at the Milkovich house when Terry was gone, something Mandy had told him last January. Terry was off running guns in Detroit with one of the local gangs, so the “cousins Milkovich” had descended upon 1955 South Trumbull with a fury. He assumed that this time would be no different, and that Mandy was anticipating a fuller-than-usual house until Terry showed back up again.

“Anyway,” Mandy said, interrupting Ian’s train of thought. “Would you like the grand tour?” She smiled and gestured widely around the room.

“Absolutely,” Ian laughed, taking Mandy’s outstretched hand and letting her yank him up off the couch.

Mandy showed him a door in the front corner of the house, nestled between the entryway wall and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Terry’s room, she said, not bothering to show him the inside. The door had a hole in it about the size of a baseball, maybe a fist, and he could only guess as to how that had happened. Down the hall, to the left, was a door that Mandy said was Mickey’s room. A piece of cardboard with “Stay the FUCK Out!” scribbled in black sharpie was duct taped to the door, and random half-torn stickers littered the surrounding space, some looking years (if not decades) old. They made their way to the end of the hall where Mandy showed him the bathroom, which had evidently just been deep cleaned, obvious by the overwhelming smell of bleach.

The kitchen was next, which Ian had seen, then the dining room, the table covered in a black tablecloth and sprinkled with tiny silver stars Mandy had lifted from the dollar store. She’d put out bowls of chips, pretzels, and other snacks on the table, as well as stacks of red solo cups and beer cozies.

“Everything you thought it would be?” Mandy asked, a mischievous, teasing look on her face.

“Oh definitely,” Ian replied, matching Mandy’s expression. “The interior decorating choices are excellent. Very Pottery Barn.” Mandy smacked Ian on the shoulder and the two burst into giggles.

“So where’s your room?” Ian asked, realizing that Mandy had only shown him two bedrooms during her “tour”. There were at least five permanent residents in the house at any given time, so there had to be more rooms somewhere.

“Downstairs,” she said. “Iggy and Colin, too, and the practice space.”

“Practice space?” Ian asked, genuinely perplexed. Practice for what? Shooting? Petty theft? Before his mind could wander any further, Mandy took his hand and led him to the kitchen.

“I’ll show you,” she said, tugging him towards a door in the far back corner by the oven. The door looked like all the others in the house, dark brown and as plain as could be, but this one had a unique added feature: a set of six different locks, ranging from simple chains to scary-looking deadbolts.

Mandy began undoing the various bolts and locks before noticing the confused expression on Ian’s face.

“Don’t worry about the locks,” she said. “We put them on there years ago. Terry gets shit faced and would come stumbling downstairs and fuck up our space, so we put these up. Once he’s down a six pack he couldn’t even figure out the chain lock if his life depended on it.” She giggled, unlatching one final deadbolt and swinging the door open.

They were met immediately by a long staircase that descended in to what Ian could only make out to be a dark, empty room.

“Yeah, he’d fall down the stairs a lot too. Not something you want to deal with at 3am, you know?” Mandy smiled this strange, forced smile, as if making light of Terry getting wasted and falling down a flight of stairs was difficult for her to do.

Ian followed Mandy down the staircase to the concrete floor below. She flicked a lightswitch and after a few seconds, the entire basement was flooded with soft, warm light. It was a stark contrast to the harsh fluorescents from upstairs that washed out your skin and made you feel like you were in a medical lab.

Straight ahead of them was a door, wooden like the other ones but painted white with purple flowers. “MANDY” had been graffitied in black across the door, a stark contrast to the soft, hand-painted background. To their left was a short hallway framed by two more doors that Ian assumed led to two more bedrooms. Iggy’s and Colin’s, Mandy had said. The doors were plain and unpainted, with mismatched door knobs. At the end of the hallway, where the walls of the bedrooms ended, someone had hung up one of those plastic beaded curtains. The beads alternated between large, flat circles and tiny spheres, and the curtain was split down the middle and secured to the walls with metal hooks. The light reflected off the plastic, casting tiny rainbows in their path.

“That’s my room,” Mandy said, pointing towards the painted door. “Iggy,” she said, gesturing to the door a few feet to the left. “Colin,” she said, pointing to the other door across the hall. “And the cherry on top of the pile of shit,” she said, smirking, leading Ian down the hall and through the beaded curtain.

Past the curtain was a large room, about the size of the living room and dining room combined. There were a series of those higher-than-average basement windows circling the three main walls, allowing the afternoon light to spill into the room. The walls were covered in posters, some clearly stolen from the local AMC theater, some of bands Ian wasn’t familiar with, some that were clearly hand-drawn and painted by Mandy or her brothers. Mismatched rugs were splayed across the floor, covering every inch of concrete. On their right side, against the wall that separated the open space from Iggy’s room, there was a stack of milk crates, five wide by three high, all of them stuffed full of records. In the far right corner there was a drum set, and between the crates and the set was an electric keyboard covered in stickers. Directly ahead, facing Ian and Mandy as they entered the room, were two large amps, framed by a tangle of long, black cords. Next to the amps were three guitars, one acoustic and decorated with tiny graffitied words and phrases, the other two electric, one standard guitar and one bass. In the far left corner, pushed up against the wall, was a dark green couch, nicer than the two upstairs by a mile. Free of duct tape or ugly floral patterns, the couch was plush and looked soft to the touch. Crocheted throw blankets and round, velvet pillows were stacked on the cushions. Next to the couch was a mini-fridge, larger than the one Ian and Lip had stolen from the estate sale, which was covered in magnets. On top of the mini fridge was a tape player and a smaller milk crate, maybe half the size of the other ones, filled to the top with cassettes. The whole room smelled like incense and cigarettes, and half-burned votive candles sat next to the cassettes on top of the fridge.

“You like it?” Mandy asked, gesturing widely at the room. The smile she wore was nostalgic, sentimental, as if this room held a far more significant meaning to her than she was letting on.

“It’s nice,” Ian said, not entirely sure how to reconcile the presence of such a warm, comfortable space within the walls of a house that he knew to be so cold and violent.

“This is  _ our _ space,” Mandy said, spreading her arms out wide and spinning in a small circle. “Mom actually put the first set of locks on the door so Terry couldn’t get down here. She said she wanted us to have a safe space away from him, where we could just be kids. It used to be just, like, one giant playroom, but as we got older it kinda of morphed into a music space.”

Ian looked around for a few more seconds, taking everything in. There was so much to look at, years of posters and stickers and magnets and records that told stories about Mandy and her brothers that Ian would probably never hear. He bent down and picked up a record that had been left on the floor. It was Iron Maiden’s “The Number of the Beast”. Put a gun to his head and ask him to name one Iron Maiden song and Ian was a goner, but the cover art was cool and edgy and interesting. He put the record down on top of the milk crates.

“So who plays all of this?” Ian asked, eyeing the keyboard, drums, and guitars.

Mandy shrugged.

“All of us? Technically? I play the bass, Mickey plays the guitar, Iggy plays the drums, and Colin plays the piano. Well, the keyboard. He has one of those little mixer things they use to make those 80s synth-pop songs, you know the ones that make the sounds all wavy?” She wiggled her fingers and giggled.

“Why didn’t I know this?” Ian asked, genuinely awe-struck. He and Mandy had been friends for over a year, fake dating for almost nine months. They’d cried in each other's arms over their dead and absent mothers, their abusive and drug-addicted fathers, their heartbreaking childhoods, and yet not once had Mandy ever mentioned the fact that she played an instrument. Hell, she’d never mentioned that  _ any _ of the Milkoviches knew how to do anything other than roll joints and shoot raccoons in the yard.

Mandy shrugged again.

“I dunno,” she said. “Didn’t seem that important, since none of us have played anything since Mickey went away.” Mandy ran her fingers over the baby blue bass guitar, nails painted hot pink to match her extensions, plucking gently at the cords and sending a gentle “wub-wub” through the room.

“Well it’s pretty fucking cool,” Ian said, admiring the instruments. “Nobody at my house knows how to play anything. I mean Frank knows how to play the piano, sort of, but we’ve only heard him play once or twice.”

Mandy giggled.

“I’m glad you think it’s cool,” she said. Her eyes flitted up and down, settling on the floor, before she spoke again. “You know I sing too?”

Ian knew this, sure, but it was still relatively new information. He’d heard Mandy sing a few times, the day she came over to tell Ian about her mom’s overdose, and a few other times in the kitchen with Fiona. But other than that, Ian never thought it was anything she did for any reason other than fun or emotional catharsis.

“Not seriously or anything,” Mandy continued before Ian had a chance to reply. “I’m not even that good.”

Ian picked up a pillow off the couch and tossed it at Mandy’s head. Mandy caught it and threw it back, hitting Ian square in the stomach.

“Shithead,” she said, laughing.

“Shut the fuck up,” Ian said, smiling. “You have an amazing voice.”

Mandy smirked but her eyes were bashful, shy, as if the very idea of sharing something that was obviously so sacred to her was an even bigger deal than she was letting on.

“So when did you guys start all this?” Ian asked, pointing in the direction of the instruments.

“Oh god, forever ago. I think I was like, seven? So Colin would have been maybe thirteen? Terry was on a bender with our uncle and my mom brought home a guitar that someone had left on the corner with a bunch of old furniture. I don’t think she intended for any of us to pick it up, I think she just liked the idea of having something fun and different in the house, you know?” Ian nodded in agreement. He and Lip had always brought home random shit they’d find on street corners and under the L, never with any intention other than the thrill of bringing home something new.

“Anyway,” Mandy continued, plucking the strings of the acoustic guitar, “Mickey picked this up after school one day and started plucking away, figuring out the chords by ear, and our mom was so impressed that she went out and bought him these music books. Guitar for Beginners, Music Theory for Dummies, all that stuff. He ate that shit up. Mom had to literally pry the guitar from his hands to get him to go to bed.” Mandy giggled, obviously amused by her memories of Mickey refusing to give up his guitar. “Of course when Terry was around, we had to hide the guitar, because he definitely would have smashed it or some shit like that. If it wasn’t for my mom setting up this space and keeping Terry out of it, it probably would have just been a blip for all of us. Instead it became our ‘thing’.” She ran her fingers across the keyboard as she slowly walked throughout the room.

“Remember how I told you my mom was like, super into music? The day I came over? You know, after?” Mandy bit her lip.

“Yeah, I remember,” Ian said, flipping through the records in one of the milk crates.

“Well, I meant that. Like,  _ super _ into music. It was like, her lifeline or some shit. The stuff she dealt with, with Terry and all…” Mandy’s voice trailed off. She shook her head just a bit, as if shaking away the thoughts and memories that were forming. She schooled her expression and looked up to meet Ian’s stare.

“It was everything to her. Her escape. Well, her healthy escape at least. The drugs, they were there too. A lot. But music was like, therapy. It made her happy.” She paused, reminiscent, then smiled. “Ian, she was  _ so _ happy when Iggy and Colin and I all begged to learn an instrument like Mickey. I’d never seen her so happy. I don’t know what she did to get them, but within a week we had a drum set, a keyboard, and two electric guitars down here, waiting for us after school, with music books and cords that plugged in to the record player so we could tape ourselves…” She stopped her rambling for a second. “It was the best thing ever. Like, the  _ best _ thing.” Mandy was smiling so brightly at the memories of making music with her brothers and her mom, and it made Ian’s heart swell. Seeing Mandy happy when reminiscing on her past was rare, so when it happened, Ian knew how significant it was.

“Wanna play me something?” he asked, encouraging Mandy’s spontaneous burst of joy. An excited smile spread so far across Mandy’s face, it practically touched her ears.

“What do you wanna hear?” she asked, grabbing the baby blue bass guitar and slinging it over her shoulder. The strap on the guitar was lavender with white flowers, the exact opposite of Mandy’s bedroom door, but also obviously hand painted.

“I dunno,” Ian said, shrugging. “What do you know?”

Mandy laughed out loud at that. She smirked, that classic mischievous look in her eyes yet again.

“What  _ don’t  _ I know?” she teased, before twisting at the tuning pegs and strumming quietly as she brought the bass up to her personal performance standards.

Mandy began strumming the bass to a familiar tune. It took Ian a few seconds to recognize it, but as soon as Mandy started singing, her voice an impossibly contradictory raspy soprano, it hit him.

> _ "It's getting near dawn, when lights close their tired eyes, I'll soon be with you my love, give you my dawn surprise, I'll be with you darling soon, I'll be with you when the stars start falling…"([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zt51rITH3EA&ab_channel=RocksM%C3%BAsicas)) _

Ian smiled as he watched his best friend strum out “Sunshine Of Your Love” with expert precision, her voice bouncing off the walls, engulfing the two of them in the sounds of the 60s. Ian bobbed his head and wiggled his shoulders, making Mandy giggle through the word “darling” in the second verse.

As suddenly as the impromptu performance had begun, it stopped, when Mandy heard the front door slam above their heads and the sound of heavy footsteps spread across the ceiling.

“Mickey!” Mandy exclaimed, her eyes lighting up like Ian had never seen before. She set down the bass in a hurry, barely watching to make sure the neck met the stand unbroken, before taking off down the hall and up the stairs. Ian followed her as best he could but damn, she was speedy. He climbed the stairs two by two until he was in the kitchen, watching Mandy throw herself at a dark-haired figure in the living room.

Mickey Milkovich was shorter than Ian remembered, or maybe Ian had gotten taller. His hair was dark, longer on top and shorter on the sides, messy as if he’d been wrestling with someone. He had a black leather jacket over a dark green t-shirt that read “Death Before Disco” - very fitting, Ian thought - and black jeans with rips in the knees rolled up over his grimey white All Stars. Ian knew that the outfit they gave you when you got out of prison was whatever you were wearing the day you were booked, so this must have been what Mickey was wearing when he got arrested on the L.

He watched as Mandy hugged Mickey tightly, her arms wrapped around the top of his shoulders, his face buried in her hair. They rocked back and forth, side to side, intentionally bumping into Iggy and Colin, who stood on either side of Mickey like amateur bodyguards. When Mandy released Mickey from her Herculean grip, the four siblings started chatting with each other (bickering was more like it) until Mickey said something that made Mandy reach up and grab him by the longer hair on top.

“What was that, assface?” Mandy yelled at Mickey, not a hint of actual animosity in her voice. Mickey protested with several strained “ow!’s” before Mandy let go of his hair and stumbled sideways, giving Mickey an unobstructed view into the kitchen for the first time.

Mickey’s face hardened immediately upon noticing Ian leaned up against the fridge, his arms crossed in front of his half-zipped gray hoodie. Ian’s smile faded as fast as it had grown.

“Ian Gallagher?” Mickey said, the words hard and assertive. “The fuck is he doing here, Mandy?” He turned to face his sister and was met with her innocent doe-eyed expression.

“Mandy didn’t tell you?” Iggy laughed, shoving the back of Mickey’s shoulder. “He’s her new boyfriend.”

Mickey bit the corner of his lip and raised his eyebrows.

“Boyfriend, huh?” he said, a faint whisper of amusement in his voice. “That so?” He grinned, turned to Mandy, and the two of them exchanged a look. It was a knowing look, a “we’ll talk more about this later” look, a “you’ve got some explaining to do but don’t worry, I’m not mad” look. A look between siblings that Ian knew all too well.

“Whatcha doin’ here then?” Mickey asked, eyeing Ian up and down, giving him a once-over that felt like daggers being dragged slowly up and down his skin. Goosebumps formed at the base of Ian’s neck.

“I invited him, asshole,” Mandy said, giving Mickey a shove. “Besides, I didn’t know Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass over here invited the whole fucking block.”

“The whole block?” Mickey asked as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the back of one of the dining room chairs (which was, in reality, a white plastic lawn chair).

“Not the whole block,” Colin protested, holding his hands in front of him as if preparing for Mandy to take a swing at him. “Just some of the guys we’ve been chillin’ with, their girls, their girls’ friends, and like, some other people too I guess.”

“So nobody I know?” Mickey asked, grabbing a cigarette from a pack he had pulled from his jacket pocket and motioning to Mandy to hand him a lighter. She fumbled in her back pockets and pulled a pink and purple BIC lighter, passing it to Mickey. He rolled his eyes and lit the cigarette between his teeth. He blew out the smoke in a slow stream, raising his eyebrows as he stared at Iggy and Colin, expecting them to answer his question.

Iggy shrugged.

“They’re cool people, Mick,” Iggy said, sounding resigned in the moment. Ian assumed that in the time Mickey had been locked up, Iggy and Colin had met some new people, new “friends”, as they had described them. Friends that would be essentially crashing an ex-convict’s welcome home party in less than an hour, not that crashing a welcome-home-from-prison party was entirely unheard of on the Southside.

“Like Gallagher’s cool people?” Mickey said, blowing smoke in Ian’s direction. Ian felt a lump rise in his throat. Why did hearing Mickey Milkovich refer to him in a condescending tone make him feel...upset? Offended? He couldn’t place the exact feeling, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. He and Mickey had crossed paths less times than he could count on both hands, and none of them were eventful enough to commit to memory.

“ _ Ian _ is very cool, and very good to me, so fuck off,” Mandy said, sliding over to Ian’s side and grabbing his arm.

Mickey grinned at his sister, as if admiring her defensiveness of her boyfriend, the cigarette shaking between his lips as he chuckled under his breath.

“Whatever, you guys know I don’t give a shit either way. I’m just glad to be out of that goddamn metal motel.” Mickey made his way to the kitchen to grab a beer and Mandy followed. He grabbed three beers in total, handing two to Mandy.

“For your new man,” he said, smirking. Mandy lifted her foot and kicked him gently in the back of his knees. They both giggled as she handed Ian one of the beers.

For the next half-hour or so, Mickey went about his business settling in, knocking the balloons that filled the room out of his way as he went between his bedroom and the bathroom. Iggy and Colin had run downstairs to grab one of the amps and this little machine Ian hadn’t noticed during Mandy’s tour. He didn’t have a name for it, but according to Colin, it was “the magic box”. Iggy had whacked him upside the head and explained that it was a machine that let them play music from a boombox through an amp, thus making the volume up to 20 times louder. Ian sat on the couch and listened to Iggy’s explanation, comprehending none of it but nodding out of respect. Things were light and casual now, but the long-running fear he had of the Milkoviches (Mandy excluded) still sat in his brain, ready to pounce at the first sign of a fight. 

The two older brothers went to work setting up the amp in a space with “optimal acoustics” and argued over whose mix tape they would play first. Mandy filled the remaining empty bowls on the table with various crackers and candies, then made the last minute decision to move all the food to the coffee table so that the dining room table could be used for beer pong.

“They let you play pong in prison, Mick?” Iggy teased as his youngest brother came out of his bedroom. He had changed his outfit from the green shirt and jeans to a black t-shirt with the arms torn off and matching black sweatpants. He had definitely ripped or cut them off himself, if the random strings that hung on his shoulders were any indication. His hair had been tamped down somehow, less fluffy than before.

“The fuck you think I did in there all day?” Mickey said, giving his brother a shit-eating grin. Iggy responded with a grin of his own, not as mischievous as Mickey’s but definitely close.

“Wanna lay some bets on a few games?” Iggy asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Mickey laughed.

“Like you have a buck fifty to your name, Ig,” he said, picking up his beer from the table and taking a swig.

Iggy reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of twenty dollar bills.

“You get your commissary cashed out?” he asked Mickey, thumbing through the bills in the most obnoxious way Ian could imagine. Mickey pulled out a wad of cash from the back of his jeans and mimicked Iggy’s campy behavior.

“You know it, bitch,” he said pointedly, before his eyes flitted to where Ian sat on the couch. When their gazes met, the half-smile that had spread across Mickey’s face faded. Ian felt the lump in his throat return and took a hard swallow from his beer. Mickey bit his lip and turned towards the kitchen.

“Mandy!” he shouted.

“Douchebag I’m right fucking here!” Mandy shouted back from a few feet away.

“Eh,” Mickey said, waving his hand in the air in a manner that was identical to Mandy’s classic waving-away-a-bad-smell mannerism. The more he saw them together, the more he saw how alike Mickey and Mandy were. They mirrored each other more than either of them probably realized.

“Wanna grab me another beer?” he asked, hand outstretched.

“Wanna have some fucking manners?” Mandy snapped, shooting her brother a look that could kill. Mickey sighed.

“Mandy, do you wanna grab me another beer, please?”

Mandy rolled her eyes.

“Eat my shorts,” she said, grabbing another bottle from the fridge and tossing it into Mickey’s still-outstretched hand.

“Thanks, Mands,” Mickey said, and his tone was genuine. He almost let himself smile a soft smile towards his sister before his eyes shifted sideways and he realized that Ian was still watching him from the couch.

Ian looked away, focusing his attention instead on Colin and Iggy, who had finally agreed on a tape to play. Iggy popped the tape out of the case, which had “Songs for Scrubs” written on the label in blue ink.

“Hey Ian,” Colin said, taking Ian completely by surprise. It was the first time any of the Milkovich brothers had addressed him directly, unprompted, in such a casual way.

“Yeah?” Ian replied, his voice just a touch quieter than he would have liked.

“Wanna hear something funny?” Colin laughed out the words as Iggy landed a blow to his shoulder. “Fuck, Ig! It’s funny!” Colin threw a punch back at Iggy, his fist landing just below Iggy’s collarbone.

“Fuck off, don’t be sharing trade secrets with an outsider!” Iggy said, winding up for another punch.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Stop hitting each other like toddlers! Ian is a guest here, fucking act like it!” Mandy shouted at her brothers from the kitchen, where she was uncovering the banana cream pie.

Iggy and Colin snorted and ceased their impromptu wrestling match so that Colin could let Ian in on the workings of Iggy’s mind.

“Iggy makes a shit ton of these tapes, just all sorts of random stuff, and none of it makes any sense when you put it together, but apparently to him it does. So he names them things based on how good they are, except he names them the opposite. So a tape called ‘Absolute Shit’ might be really good, but a tape called ‘Decent Tunes’ would be like, some boyband record.”

Iggy rolled his eyes as Ian and Colin laughed simultaneously.

“Hey you assholes know nothing of the creative process,” Iggy said, shoving Colin once more before standing up off the floor and going to switch on the amp. After a few button presses, sound started coming through the speaker. Iggy fiddled with the switches until the music was coming through at a volume that wasn’t ear-splitting, but definitely loud enough to hear from the street.

> _ "Load up on guns, bring your friends, it's fun to lose and to pretend, she's over-bored and self-assured, oh no, I know a dirty word…"([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTWKbfoikeg&ab_channel=NirvanaVEVO)) _

Iggy and Colin began playing air guitars along to Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. Ian laughed as he watched the two brothers jump up and down in a wholly juvenile way. The last hour with the Milkovich kids (if they could even still be called kids) had done well to dispel a good chunk of Ian’s reservations. He still wasn’t completely at ease, knowing that most reputations had their foundations in at least  _ some _ truth, and worried that he may bear witness to that at some point. But whenever that point may have come, it seemed far off in the distance now, miles from the image of two grown men, 21 and 23 years of age, bouncing around their living room, jamming on their imaginary instruments and living out their youthful garage band dreams.

Mandy shouted at Iggy and Colin to turn down the music before balancing the pie on one hand and using the other to push Mickey towards the couch where Ian sat. As the volume lowered, Mandy began making what was apparently a speech.

“As you all know,” she said, clearing her throat, “our dearly departed Mickey has returned to us from the grave.”

“He didn’t fuckin’  _ die _ Mandy,” Colin said, but was cut off with a grunt when Mandy’s elbow landed in his ribs.

“He returned from the grave,” she continued, as if not interrupted at all, “and is home with us, where he belongs. And in honor of this momentous occasion, we celebrate with pie.” Mandy sat the pie down on the counter. In it she had stuck two candles, a “1” and a “9”.

“We are  _ also _ celebrating dearly departed Mickey’s belated birthday,” Mandy said, striking a match.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey sighed, and took a swig of his beer.

Ian couldn’t hold back his laughter and let out a small snort. Mickey and Mandy both shot him similar pointed looks, but for vastly different reasons.

“Anyway, assholes, let’s sing,” Mandy said as she lit the candles. Immediately, Colin and Iggy burst into a cheerful rendition of “So He’s A Jolly Good Fellow”, adjusting their mannerisms to that of an animated, vaudevillian quartet, eliciting a laugh from Mandy and an eye roll from Mickey. Once they were finished, Mickey reluctantly blew out the candles and Mandy clapped and cheered.

“Yay yay yay!” She whisked the pie away into the kitchen. “We can eat this later, Mick, I don’t want to risk anyone showing up and not having enough to share,” she said as she re-covered the pie with aluminum foil and stuck it in the back of the fridge, hidden beneath one of the stacks of pizza boxes.

Mickey snorted.

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grumbled, low enough that Mandy wasn’t able to hear. His mumble hadn’t escaped Ian’s ears, though, and he was helpless not to chuckle at Mickey’s complaint.

Mickey’s eyes flashed over to Ian’s and the two boys were immediately locked in a staring contest. For a moment, Ian was frozen in the cold blue eyes that held his gaze, unwavering, before he was mercifully released from their grip by the shrill toll of the door bell.

“People are here!” Mandy said from the kitchen. Iggy made his way to the front door and flung it open, letting in a stream of random people that quickly filled the living room. Most of them appeared to recognize Colin. Some of them even recognized Mickey, waving and saying things like, “Welcome back!” and “How was the clink?” Mickey responded with sarcastic huffs, but eventually began sharing tales from his  _ days in the joint _ like they were old war stories, talking about how some idiot tried to stab him with a plastic fork because he thought he stole his jello, or that time he and his cellmate Damon caught the security guard smuggling heroin through the laundry facility. Apparently, according to Mickey, they promised not to rat her out if she gave them each twenty percent of her cut. 

Ian immediately felt overwhelmed in the presence of not only the Milkovich kids, the Milkovich  _ house _ rather, but by the plethora of random strangers from the neighborhood, some of whom he thought he might know, but most he couldn’t place them if he tried. The majority of them looked older, probably Colin’s age, people that Fiona might recognize from school or the neighborhood growing up.

He stood up from the couch and made his way towards the kitchen, which was the least densely populated area in the whole upstairs. He sipped his beer and exchanged pleasantries with the few random people that came into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, or pop their six-pack of Budweiser in the fridge. After a minute, Mandy made her way through the growing crowd of Southside teens and found herself at Ian’s side yet again.

“You good?” she asked, putting her hand on his bicep.

Ian nodded.

“Yep, all good. How many people are supposed to be coming?” Mandy shrugged and leaned against his shoulder.

“Hey, did you bring your camera?” she asked, taking a sip of her beer.

“Yeah, why?”

“You should go around and take pictures. You know, document the occasion. I’d say someone only gets out of prison once in a lifetime, but…” Her voice trailed off and she giggled into the mouth of the Old Style can. “It would be fun, and we can go get them all developed tomorrow and laugh at how wasted everyone was.”

Ian rolled his eyes at that and Mandy laughed again. He made his way to the living room, gently pushing his way through the growing crowd. His cheer duffel was tucked down by the side under one of the ripped dust ruffles. He unzipped it, pulled out his camera, and began clicking the various buttons to adjust the settings.

He had recently splurged on a roll of high-quality black and white film at the Fotomat, and had mixed feelings about using it at the party. It was expensive to develop, but he had a little extra money from his cut of the Gallagher summer daycare earnings, so he decided to humor Mandy and deal with the monetary consequences later.

He pointed the camera at the ceiling where the balloons he and Mandy had inflated hung, bouncing off of each other gently as people moved through the room and bumped the ribbons. He pressed the shutter release and snapped a picture. Once he was satisfied with the adjustments he had made, overcompensating with the flash due to the rapidly setting sun and the shitty lighting at the Milkovich house, he made his way back over to Mandy, who was sitting on top of the kitchen counter talking to the two people that stood in front of her.

“Ian! Look who’s here!” The woman standing in front of Mandy turned around and Ian recognized her immediately. It was Tiffany, one of the senior co-captains that had passed her metaphorical baton to Ian last spring. Her hair was different than he was used to seeing it, all slicked back in a perfect ponytail. Instead, she wore her natural curls in two pigtails on the top of her head, baby pink plastic beads attached to the bases, giving her a very “Powerpuff Girls” vibe. She wore a matching pink t-shirt with the “Barbie” logo across the chest, a denim jacket with yellow flower patches along the sleeves, and a black pleather mini skirt that showed off her long, thin legs.

“Ian!” she shouted, her voice high-pitched, but not grating. “Come here!” Tiffany reached out and pulled Ian in for a hug. Since they were almost the same height, Tiffany maybe an inch and a half shorter than Ian, their arms knocked together when they both went in for the hug with their arms on top.

The two friends laughed, then successfully embraced when Ian went high and Tiffany went low.

“What are you doing here?” Ian asked her, eyeing the bored-looking dude standing next to her.

“It’s a small world, actually! This is Ace, he’s my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for what, three weeks now?” she said, flashing an impossibly bright smile, putting her hand on the man’s shoulder. His expression was vacant. He gave Ian a slight nod, to which Ian responded with his own nod and a tight-lipped smile.

“Ace and Colin work together,” Mandy interrupted, patting Ace on the back with three firm smacks. “Well,  _ work _ together,” Mandy giggled, putting air quotes around the word “work”.

Tiffany reached over and swatted at Mandy, who dodged her friend’s hands and giggled while she drank the rest of her beer.

“They’re friends too,” Tiffany assured Ian, patting his shoulder. Ian was growing increasingly confused about why people seemed to be going out of their way to make him feel like an uncool, out-of-the-know child amongst adults. I mean  _ technically _ he and Mandy were two of the youngest people there, sure, but still. He couldn’t help but let Tiffany’s coddling tone make him ruminate for a minute on the way Mickey had spoken to him during their initial meeting. Did he give off an extra-especially childlike vibe today? He glanced down at his gray zip-up. A perfectly normal, adult outfit. He grumbled to himself.

“Anyway,” Tiffany continued, fully unaware of Ian’s ongoing internal monologue, “Colin invited Ace and Ace invited me, so here we are!” She hugged Ace from the side. The man’s expression remained as neutral as before. “I’m not gonna lie, I was hesitant at first. I mean, a Milkovich party? No offense, Mandy,” she said, eyeing her friend with an immediately apologetic look.

Mandy waved her hand in the air.

“None taken,” she said, cracking open another beer. Ian hadn’t been keeping count, but he was certain Mandy had to have been at least three or four drinks deep at this point, and it had only been an hour. He wasn’t going to say anything, though. This was Mandy’s house, her party for Mickey, her brother’s beer. If she wanted to get wasted, her bed was only six locks and fourteen stairs away. Still, he made a mental note to keep an eye on her through the night, just in case.

Tiffany and Mandy continued with their idle chatter, with Ace growing more and more corpse-like by their sides. Ian’s eyes scanned the living room. He had been to enough house parties in his seventeen years, but the energy of a Milkovich party was...different. Not bad, just different. Somehow even more laid back that he had anticipated, despite the ever-expanding crowd. There were probably at least 30 people in the house, not including their foursome in the kitchen, and two guys in beanies and leather jackets that were setting up cups for beer pong.

“Yo Mick!” one of them shouted, turning towards the couch. Ian followed the man’s gaze until his eyes landed on Mickey. Ian watched him, trying not to be obvious about it. He was sitting on the ugly floral cushions, sandwiched between two girls that were draping their limbs all over him. He wore an irritated expression, evidently annoyed by how difficult it was to drink his beer and simultaneously fend off the two girls.

“Yeah?” Mickey shouted back, plucking one of the girl’s hands off his shoulder by her index finger and dropping it in her lap. She looked offended and rolled her eyes before turning away from Mickey to pout.

“You up for a game?”

“Yes  _ please _ ,” Mickey said, obviously eager to remove himself from the two intoxicated girls. Ian chuckled under his breath as he watched Mickey leap up from the couch and practically sprint over to the dining room table. He helped the beanie-clad men finish arranging the cups, then began pouring beer into each one. When the already-opened cans ran empty, Mickey reached to the center of the table for another. When he did, he looked up, eyes jumping from the solo cups straight to where Ian stood in the kitchen. 

Ian swallowed hard when Mickey’s eyes met his. Was he about to make offhanded comments about his “coolness” again? Or was he going to tell him to fuck off for staring at him like a creep? The tattoos on his knuckles, black serif letters reading “FUCK U-UP”, made Ian think the latter.

Suddenly, Ian was blinded by the flash of a camera.

“Gotcha!” Mandy giggled, holding Ian’s Canon AE-1 in her hands and wiggling it around. Ian rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. He knew Mandy loved his camera as much as he did, and would jump at the chance to take a sneaky picture if the opportunity presented itself.

“Hey Gallagher,” an increasingly familiar voice said. Ian’s eyes darted back to meet Mickey’s. “You any good at beer pong?” he asked, smirking.

Ian felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He turned his head back towards where Mandy sat. She looked at him over the lip of the can she was drinking from, raised her eyebrows, and grinned, as if to say, “go for it”. Ian turned back around to find Mickey still watching him, beer in one hand and a ping pong ball in the other.

“Pretty good,” he replied, trying not to sound as inexplicably nervous as he felt. He’d been playing beer pong, or variations of it, since he was barely nine. He had a pretty solid technique. He won the majority of the games he played, a fact that made Lip, CPU’s pong champion, absolutely furious. Still, the idea of playing against a Milkovich, especially a recently released ex-convict with a felony drug conviction, who he was about 99% certain could kick his ass, made his stomach flip.

Mickey burped once, crushing the beer can in his hand and tossing it under the table.

“Alright, me and Lou versus Sully and Gallagher,” he said, letting out a small snort after Ian’s surname, as if to wish Sully good luck.

Ian would never admit it to himself, but he was ultra-competitive when it came to games. It didn’t matter the stakes, he just liked to win. Monopoly in the Gallagher household usually ended with Ian putting Lip in a chokehold and Fiona breaking them apart with the game board. So, despite his unexplainable nervousness in Mickey’s presence, the idea of losing a casual game of beer pong was not something that sat right in his soul.

“Alright, I guess it’s you and me, Sully,” Ian said to the grunge-y cousin next to him. Sully laughed, pulling his beanie down over his shaggy blonde hair.

“Alright, Gallagher,” Sully said, mimicking Mickey’s tone. “Better not fuck this up,” he said, pointing a finger up at Ian. Ian laughed.

“No chance,” he said, rubbing his hands together in an excited way that made Lou chuckle from the other side of the table.

Mickey pulled a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket and lit one before offering a square to each of his cousins. Both of them declined, so he stuck the pack back in his pocket.

“Hey! Selfish!” Mandy shouted from the kitchen, making her way over to her brother in a few giant leaps. She reached in his back pocket and pulled out the pack.

“Ey!” Mickey shouted, cigarette between his teeth. Mandy paid him no mind. Lighting up with a quick spark of the lighter and a wink at her brother, she turned towards Ian.

“Kick his ass, babe,” she said, blowing a kiss in his direction before disappearing into the crowd. An electro-pop song Ian recognized was bumping through the speakers, and the party-goers jumped up and down to the beat.

> _ "If you're alone and you need a friend, someone to make you forget your problems, just come along baby, take my hand, I'll be your lover tonight…"([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llyiQ4I-mcQ&ab_channel=Vengaboys)) _

“Alright Gallagher, you’re on,” Mickey said between clenched teeth, his cigarette dangling from his lips. Ian smirked and grabbed the ping pong ball from Lou’s outstretched hand.

The four of them threw the ping pong ball back and forth, cheering and chugging their beers when one of their tosses landed. Each team started with 21 cups and within ten minutes, they were down to a dozen cups total. Ian and Sully were winning with 5 cups to Lou and Mickey’s 7, and Lou was growing increasingly annoyed.

“Alright watch this,” Ian said. “Back corner, my left.” He wound up and, with a flick of his wrist, launched the ball across the table and directly into the cup. Sully thrust his fists in the air and let out a loud “whoop-whoop!” type of shout. He double-high-fived Ian as Lou rolled his eyes and groaned.

A crowd had begun to gather around them, Ian only recognizing Tiffany and Ace amongst the unfamiliar faces. They stood on Lou and Mickey’s side of the table but appeared to be cheering on Ian and Sully. The rest of the party-goers shouted and hollered as Alice DJ’s “Better Off Alone” played at full blast.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey said, “calm down, you animals.” Ian laughed at that before Mickey continued. “Middle row, dead center.”

Ian glanced down at the cups in front of him. There were three in the middle row, all pressed together with the lips touching. It was going to be a tricky shot; quarter of an inch in the wrong direction and the ball would rebound.

Mickey stubbed out his cigarette on the table and chugged the last of the beer he’d been nursing. He wound up and tossed the ball, sending it flying through the air. It followed an upwards curve and then came crashing down, landing directly in the center of the middle cup. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Lou grabbed Mickey by the back of his shoulders and shook him.

“Fuck yeah!” Lou shouted. Mickey laughed, his eyes all squinty from grinning.

“Okay, okay, you’re up Sully.”

As Sully wound up for a toss, Ian suddenly realized that he hadn’t seen Mandy in quite a bit. He wondered where she had gone off to. Nobody had made their way to the back corner of the kitchen, so he knew she hadn’t gone to the basement. He scanned the room, but came up empty. He tried not to worry. This was Mandy’s house, she knew how to handle herself.

Their game continued for several more minutes, until they were down to two cups each. Lou was winding up for a toss when Ian finally saw Mandy out of the corner of his eye. She was dancing chaotically in the corner up by the entryway, right outside of Terry’s bedroom door. Her arms were above her head and she was jumping up and down to the music playing through the amp.

> _ “Saturday night, dance, I like the way you move, pretty baby, it's party time and not one minute we can lose, be my baby…”([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DNQRtmIMxk&ab_channel=EnergyTV)) _

“Hey Mandy!” he shouted, waving in her direction. Mandy looked up, her eyes visibly dark and glassy even from across the room. She smiled a huge, cheesy grin and squinted towards Ian, using her hand to block out the overhead lights as if they were the sun.

“Iiiiiiiian,” she yelled, dragging out the “ee” sound at the beginning of his name. “Are you kicking his ass?”

The ass she was referring to was obviously Mickey’s, and he nodded.

“C’mere!” he shouted, just as Lou’s toss landed in one of the remaining cups. Everyone cheered, and Ian’s eyes broke away from the bouncing, spinning Mandy in the corner. Thankfully, she took it upon herself to stumble over to the table, slapping her hands down in the middle dramatically.

“Sudden death!” she shouted, then broke into a fit of giggles. She chugged the rest of the beer that was in her hand - her sixth? seventh? - and then stumbled backwards, bumping into Tiffany, who caught Mandy just before she fell over.

Mickey tore his eyes away from the game and glanced over towards where Mandy had stumbled, a look of concern suddenly overwhelming his face. He looked deep in thought for a half-second, then turned to Lou and shouted something in his ear, inaudible to Ian over the music. Lou clapped Mickey on the shoulder and let him side-step around the table to get to Mandy.

“Alright y’all this game’s on pause! Who’s next?” The crowd groaned, upset they would be missing the final showdown. Lou grabbed a few people from the crowd and started setting up new cups. Ian quietly stepped away from the table, sneaking around Sully, trying not to draw attention to himself as he slunk through the crowd and across the room to where Mickey was interrogating Mandy. She was smiling, but clearly on the defensive, with her hands in front of her chest.

“All good?” Ian asked when finally made his way through the crowd.

“No, everything is not good,  _ Gallagher _ ,” he said, borderline spitting Ian’s last name. “Mandy here thought it would be a good idea to take fucking  _ ecstasy _ .”

Mandy rolled her eyes at her brother. Her pupils were so dilated that her blue eyes looked black, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead. She was giggling uncontrollably to herself, swatting away Mickey’s hands as he attempted to steady her.

“Mandy,” Ian said, leaning in so that he was right by her ear. “Mandy, did you take something?”

Mandy blew a raspberry in the air and followed it with a “psshhh”.

“What are you, my mother?” she giggled, slumping over suddenly. Ian caught her mid-fall, Mandy’s legs completely limp, his arms the only thing keeping her from colliding with the floor.

“Yeah, she’s wasted,” Ian said, hoisting Mandy up and tossing her arm over his shoulder. “Should we get her to bed or something?” Ian asked Mickey, who stood there, clearly irritated. Ian wondered if this had happened before, or if it happened regularly. He’d been best friends with Mandy for over a year, and he’d seen her drunk plenty of times. But aside from sharing poorly rolled joints in the Gallagher’s backyard, Ian was under the impression that Mandy didn’t really “ _ do _ ” drugs. Still, those had been casual hangouts with his family and younger siblings. He knew that Lincoln Grove had a “drug and alcohol policy”, since the whole squad and all of the other student athletes had to sign the wordy papers every semester. He also knew that quite literally  _ nobody _ abided by those rules, no matter how pure and chaste they seemed. This was the Southside. It was easier to get your hands on illicit substances than almost anything else.

“She’ll fight you on it, but yeah, let’s get her downstairs.” Mickey made his way over to Mandy’s side opposite Ian and reflected their position, flinging Mandy’s other arm over his shoulders and helping Ian haul her to the kitchen. It was a bit awkward because of the two boys’ height difference, Mickey at least four inches shorter than Ian. Once they made it to the far back corner, Mandy leaned up against Ian as Mickey unlocked the main deadbolt. She wrapped her arms around her faux-beau’s neck and mumbled incoherently into his chest.

Ian and Mickey worked together to get Mandy down the stairs, a few too many close calls for comfort, but eventually the three of them landed on solid ground. Ian held Mandy up while Mickey opened her bedroom door.

Beyond the purple flowers and graffiti was a small room with a queen sized bed pushed up in the corner. Posters, tapestries, and paintings covered the walls. A pink dresser, covered in what appeared to be a decade’s worth of stickers and movie ticket stubs, was pushed up beside the bed, obviously serving two functions as clothing storage and a nightstand. Mandy’s cheer uniforms and regular school clothes were strewn about, a hamper full of laundry beside the dresser. A long metal rod ran along the width of the room on the far left side, with the rest of Mandy’s clothes hanging up on twisted metal hangers. Her bed was messy, with a pink and purple floral comforter scrunched up along the foot of the bed and four mismatched pillows at the top.

Ian gently laid Mandy down on the bed. She was fading fast, mumbling something about the music under her breath. She started kicking her feet in the air and Ian realized that she wanted someone to take off her socks. He obliged, tossing them into the hamper in the corner of the room.

“I thought ecstasy was supposed to make you like, really awake,” Ian said, instantly regretting his words for fear of seeming lame, or uncool by Milkovich standards.

Mickey did the exact opposite of what Ian expected, and chuckled softly under his breath. He pulled the comforter over Mandy, who was now humming “Good Vibrations” and snuggling into her pillows.

“Nah, not always, not if you’re drinking too. Plus Mandy’s never really done much of anything so it’s hard to say how she’ll react.” 

Well, that answered Ian’s question. This was definitely out of character for Mandy, but he could hardly be upset with her. He was willing to bet at least half of the party guests (party crashers, really) upstairs were rolling at that very moment. Someone had switched out Iggy’s mixtape with their own, and the electronic beat and bassline of The Prodigy’s “Breathe” vibrated the ceiling.

> _ “Breathe the pressure, come play my game, I’ll test ya, psychosomatic, addict, insane…”([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmHDhAohJlQ&ab_channel=XLRecordings)) _

After a few moments of silence, just Mandy’s humming and the music from upstairs occupying the space between them, Mickey spoke again.

“One of us should probably stay down here with her, make sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit and shit.”

Ian nodded.

“I don’t mind sitting with her,” he said, and it was the truth. The second that their game of beer pong was over, Ian’s initial feeling of incapacitating nervousness had returned. He was more than happy to sit this one out and keep an eye on Mandy. She was his girlfriend, after all, as far as everyone knew. 

Mickey bit his lip and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb, contemplating.

“Nah, you can go head back up. I’ll stay with her. Wasn’t really wanting or expecting a party anyway,” he said, eyes angled down at the bed, watching Mandy, who was now passed out with her mouth hanging open. He smirked and glanced back up at Ian through dark eyelashes and heavy lids. The goosebumps returned.

“I really don’t mind,” Ian said. “If we’re being totally honest, it was getting a little crowded up there anyway. Too many people, not enough space, you know?”

They stood there, staring at each other for a few more seconds.

“Well,” Mickey finally said. “I mean, you can stay down here if you want. I’ll probably stay for a bit if that’s cool, since I’ve dealt with this before. Just as a precaution, ya know?”

Ian chuckled.

“I’ve dealt with a passed out Mandy a few times myself,” he said. Mickey raised his eyebrows again.

“That so?” he said, nodding his head. “Alright then.”

Mickey turned around and made his way to the door. He put his hand on the handle, then turned back around to face Ian.

“You want something to drink? Like a pop or something?”

Ian shrugged.

“Sure,” he said, and watched Mickey disappear through the door. He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Mandy, who was snoring softly.

Mickey returned after a few moments with two cans of root beer in his hands. He’d probably pulled them from the mini fridge in the den, the one Ian had seen earlier during Mandy’s tour. Mickey handed one of the cans to Ian. As Ian took the can from Mickey’s “U-UP” hand, their fingers brushed for a microsecond. Ian felt his pulse quicken and his blood warm, an inexplicable sensation he couldn’t rationalize or comprehend. He pulled away quickly, root beer in hand, and popped open the can with a  _ hissss-CRACK! _

As suddenly as she had passed out, Mandy’s eyes shot open, still black as night. She rolled over to glare at her brother.

“D’you two  _ mind _ taking this party to the other room?” she slurred. Ian laughed outright, and Mickey chuckled under his breath.

“Yes, dear,” Ian said sarcastically. He leaned down to plant a kiss on Mandy’s forehead. “Sleep tight,” he said in her ear, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders and making sure she was on her side.

Ian got up off the bed, turned on the lava lamp on the dresser in case Mandy tried to get up in the middle of the night, then made his way out of the door alongside Mickey, flicking off the overhead light. They left the door half-open so they could peek in on her every once in a while. You know, just in case.

Mickey wandered down the hall and into the den, sipping his soda. The party was still in full swing, the music bumping through the floorboards and down into the basement. Ian followed him, the two of them eventually winding up on opposite sides of the room. Mickey sat on the far left side of the couch while Ian stood over by the milk crates, flipping through records as he had done earlier. Nirvana, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Guns N’ Roses were just a few of the bands whose records filled the crates. Ian had to give one thing to the Milkoviches: they had pretty good taste in music.

“What, no Backstreet Boys?” Ian asked sarcastically. Mickey shocked the hell out of him by laughing outright.

“Nah, man. No way,” he said, smiling around his pop.

Ian grinned. He was feeling a bit more at ease in Mickey’s presence. They’d only really known each other for a few hours, but already the boy across from him was becoming less and less “Mickey Milkovich, neighborhood thug” and more and more “Mickey Milkovich, protective brother and purveyor of quality music”.

“So,” Ian said, clearing his throat, feeling emboldened by Mickey’s reaction to his sarcastic comment. “Why didn’t you want a party?”

Mickey thought about it for a second, staring at Ian as if he was performing some sort of risk assessment. He looked him up and down, a hesitant but inquisitive look in his eyes. It wasn’t as if they were about to have a heart-to-heart, but Ian understood why a Milkovich would be hesitant to answer questions like that one. Ian saw the gears turning in Mickey’s head until finally his eyes cleared, softening ever so slightly.

“Dunno. Just never really been a party kind of person. We never really had parties here, you know, over the years. But now that Terry’s AWOL, Colin and Iggy are determined to throw as many ragers as they can. Which is fine, it’s just not really my thing.”

Ian continued flipping through the records, trying not to seem as interested in Mickey’s words as he was. What were the reasons they never had parties? How did the Milkovich brothers know that Terry was actually AWOL and not just on a bender somewhere, like Mandy had told him before? Why wasn’t Mickey a fan of parties, as a concept? Ian had a thousand questions, but knew it was in his best interest not to ask them.

“Seemed like you were having a good time upstairs,” Ian said, making his way over to the keyboard and sitting down on the well-worn leather stool. He pressed the keys, but no sound came out.

“Hey, it’s impossible not to have a good time when you’re winning at beer pong.”

“Winning?” Ian asked incredulously. “Please, I was kicking your ass.”

“Is that so? How many cups did you have left at the end there, Gallagher?”

He was surprised by the lack of venom behind Mickey’s words as he lobbed Ian’s surname at him yet again. This time, “Gallagher” had no derogatory tone underlying it. It was light, teasing, a complete 180 from the Mickey upstairs, who was pissed at Mandy for overdoing it.

“Hey, if you’d given me one more minute I would have wiped the floor with you and Lou.”

Mickey chuckled.

“Sure you would’ve,” he said skeptically, eyebrows sky high.

“Anyway, I was pretty much running shit solo up there.”

“I guess that’s true. Sully’s always been a shitty shot,” he said, smirking.

They sat for a second, listening to the music playing from upstairs. It was quiet, but less awkward than it had been before. 

It was Ian who broke the silence, and his vow not to ask too many potentially invasive questions.

“So, all this music stuff,” he said, gesturing to the instruments around them. “Is this something you guys do a lot? Like, play shit together?”

Mickey shrugged.

“Sort of? More when we were younger, less when Terry’s around. It was something we did with our mom. Threw together a little garage band of sorts when Mandy and I were in middle school. We played covers of our favorite songs and took turns choosing what to play.” He laughed under his breath. “Mandy’s the only reason I know the chords to ‘Time After Time’.”

They both chuckled at that. Ian had a million more questions, heeding Mandy’s warning not to mention anything about Laura.  _ It’s a touchy subject now that she’s gone. _

Ian was about to ask about the garage band when a crash from upstairs caused both of them to jump.

“What the actual fuck?” Mickey grumbled, and set down his pop on the floor by the couch. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and sprinted down the hallway and up the stairs.

Ian sat at the keyboard for a few moments longer, then moved to the couch when he heard the door to the kitchen slam shut. There was a Rolling Stone magazine on the floor by his feet. He picked it up and flipped to a page that had been dog-eared. “Eminem’s Twisted Life Story”, the article was called. Ian skimmed the pages for a few seconds before deciding that he still had too much beer in his system to read such a tiny font. He closed the magazine and tossed it back down on the floor.

A few seconds later, Mickey returned, clomping gracelessly down the stairs. When he came into the light from the den, Ian saw that he was holding a camera. His camera.

“Oh shit!” Ian exclaimed, jumping up off of the couch and meeting Mickey in the middle of the room. “Is it broken?”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s yours though, right?”

Ian nodded and held out his hands. Mickey placed the camera on Ian’s outstretched palms gently, making sure to lay it down lens-side up.

“Thanks,” Ian said, and he meant it. In all the chaos of unfamiliar faces, beer pong, and Mandy’s rapid intoxication, he had completely forgotten about his camera. He’d probably left it on the countertop. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it for damages. It looked fine, but when he went to check the film counter, he noticed it was set at zero.

“Fuck!” he said. Mickey looked surprised by Ian's outburst.

“Everything good?” he asked, sitting back down on the couch and picking up the soda can.

“Sort of. I mean, it’s fine.  _ Fuck _ . Someone must have got their hands on it and filled up the rest of the roll. I still had 12 shots left when I got here, and Mandy only took one. So, I don’t know what happened to the other 11.”

Ian sat down on the opposite end of the couch and popped open the back of the camera. He gently pulled the film from its spot inside, making sure the end of the roll was tucked in to itself, then pulled an empty film canister from the pocket of his zip-up. He slid the roll into the container and pushed the lid shut with a “pop”.

“How long have you been doing that? Taking pictures?” Mickey asked, raising his eyebrows and pointing to the camera.

Ian thought about it for a few seconds.

“A few years? I’ve had it forever but only really started using it again last year. Actually, it was around the time Mandy and I started hanging out.”

Mickey nodded, eyeing the camera in Ian’s hands, his eyes contemplative.

“It’s a cool hobby,” he said. He sounded genuine. “Mandy always wanted a camera when we were younger. She ever bug you to let her use it?”

Ian laughed. “Every single day,” he said. He put the film canister in his pocket and sighed. “I don’t even want to think about how much it’s gonna cost to get these developed. I don’t even know if it’s worth it, honestly. You know, since I don’t even know what’s on the roll.”

“How much do you think it’s gonna cost?” Mickey asked. 

Ian shrugged his shoulders.

“It was a pricier roll of film than I usually shoot on. At least fifteen bucks, I’m guessing. Which I know isn’t really all that much, it just adds up after a while.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mickey hummed, then reached into his back pocket. He pulled out the stack of money he had taunted Iggy with earlier. His commissary cash out, if Ian’s memory served him right. He pulled out a single $20 bill and handed it to Ian.

Ian looked at Mickey, then down at the wrinkled face of Andrew Jackson, then back up at Mickey again. Mickey shook the twenty gently, holding it between his thumb and index finger like a joint.

“Take it,” he said. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find a hidden gem in there. Something you can blackmail Mandy with. Or Iggy.” He smirked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Ian hesitated. Mickey rolled his eyes and leaned towards Ian. As he closed the distance between them, Ian felt his pulse quicken. The goosebumps returned.  _ What the hell? _

Ian didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Mickey to lean over and slip his hand into his pocket. He was absolutely not expecting him to pull out the film canister, and he definitely wasn’t expecting him to wrap the $20 bill around the container and then tuck it, very gently, back into Ian’s pocket.

“Thanks,” Ian said, his voice catching ever so slightly in his throat. Mickey smiled, and it was the softest smile Ian had seen on him all day.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, sliding back to his side of the couch and finishing his pop.

Ian took a second to pull himself together before standing up and turning to face Mickey.

“Hey, I’m thinking if it’s cool with you, I might crash here tonight. You know, make sure Mandy’s okay and everything. I can sleep on the couch down here, if that’s alright.”

Mickey shrugged.

“Whatever you wanna do is cool with me,” he said. “You need to call anyone, or?”

“Maybe my sister. I told her I’d check in by…” Ian eyed his watch. 8:45. He’d planned to call Fiona if he wound up staying past 9. “Well, now, I guess.”

Mickey nodded.

“Phone’s upstairs in the kitchen, right behind the door. Can’t miss it. Big yellow fucker,” he said, crushing his soda can in his fist and tossing it into the wastepaper basket in the corner of the room. It went in with a  _ swish _ .

He burped and laughed to himself.

“Two points,” he said under his breath.

Ian couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He turned around and made his way upstairs.

After he had called Fiona, assured her that everything was fine and he  _ definitely  _ wasn’t even a little bit drunk, he made his way back down to the basement. Mickey was still sitting in the same position as before, flipping through the Rolling Stone magazine with the article about Eminem.

Ian checked his watch. It was just before 9. Still early for him to go to bed, but there was plenty for him to look at around the room until he got sleepy.

Mickey shut the magazine and stood up from the couch.

“You need like, another blanket or whatever?” he asked, giving Ian another slow once-over. Every time he did that, looked Ian up and down, it sent a tingle of electricity down Ian’s spine. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, per say, but it was odd that Mickey’s glances elicited such a response. Ian knew if he thought about it too hard he would give himself a headache, so he let the moment pass unacknowledged.

“Thanks, but I think I’m good with these,” he said, patting the pile of blankets on the back of the couch.

Mickey bit his lower lip and brushed at his nose with the “K” finger on his “FUCK” hand. 

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, not sure of what to do next. Ian sat down on the couch. Mickey shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Well, I’ll let you get some sleep,” he said. “Gonna go upstairs and make sure Colin and Iggy don’t let these fuckers burn the place down.”

Ian laughed under his breath.

“Sounds like a solid plan,” he said.

Mickey nodded, gave Ian a half-smile, and turned to make his way back upstairs. Just before he reached the top, he paused and turned around, the wooden stairs creaking under the weight of his feet.

“Night, Gallagher,” he said quickly and quietly before turning back around and disappearing through the kitchen door.

Ian felt his heart leap in his chest.

Mickey had flicked off the overhead lights before shutting the kitchen door. The warm glow of Mandy’s lava lamp and the soft orange light from the streetlights outside cast shadows that danced around the den. The music was still pulsating above him, the crowd’s footsteps irregular and unsteady, but nowhere near as unsteady as Ian’s head in that moment. He laid down on the couch and listened to the sound of “Friday I’m In Love” by The Cure.

> _ “Dressed up to the eyes, it's a wonderful surprise, to see your shoes and your spirits rise, throw out your frown, and just smile at the sound, sleek as a shriek, spinning 'round and 'round…”([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dt7oMSOB7nw&ab_channel=TheCure-Topic)) _

Ian laid there, a velvet pillow beneath his head. He pulled one of the blankets off the back of the couch and threw it over his body. His feet stuck out, but it was still warm enough that it didn’t bother him too much.

There was something odd about Mickey Milkovich. Maybe it was the way he seemed so carefree in the presence of a crowd, despite claiming that he never wanted a party. Maybe it was the way he went from happy to frustrated to nostalgic in mere moments. Maybe it was the way he looked at Ian, as if he wanted to poke him playfully and throttle him into a wall at the same time. It was confusing, and unexpected, and it made Ian’s brain hurt.

He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. If he slept, he wouldn’t have to think about the way his heart jumped up into his throat when Mickey had told him “goodnight” in a whisper-soft voice.

As he slowly slipped into unconsciousness, Ian’s mind wandered. Eventually he found himself half-asleep, thinking back to the day Mandy had stopped him in the hall. He remembered her red fingernails, the butterfly clips in her half-crimped hair, and wondered what he would be doing in that exact moment if she hadn’t snuck up behind him and slammed her hand against the bulletin board.

He definitely wouldn’t be at the Milkovich house. He  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t be sleeping on a couch in the Milkovich basement. He was absolutely certain that he wouldn’t be half-asleep, covered in a blanket that smelled like lavender incense and weed, his mind full of old memories of Mandy and new memories of her brother.

As he thought of all the things he definitely wouldn’t be doing, Ian succumbed to his heavy lids and racing mind and fell into a deep sleep.

That night he dreamt of Mickey. 

Well, sort of. 

He dreamt of the party, almost as if an instant replay was running in his subconscious. He dreamt about beer pong, about Mandy, about the way Mickey’s forehead wrinkled when he furrowed his eyebrows, irritated at his sister about the drugs. He dreamt about the soft way he had told him goodnight and the goosebumps on the back of his neck and the electric zing that ran up his spine when Mickey slowly moved his eyes up and down when he looked at Ian. The way his eyes were simultaneously so light, even bluer than Mandy’s, but also dark, hardened in a way that confused Ian. They were the eyes of someone who had seen things, felt things, knew things. They were the kind of eyes that could grab you, hold you, pin you down. They were the kind of eyes that knew things, secret things. Dark things. Scary things. Life-changing things.

Ian shot up out of his sleep with a gasp, his heart racing. The soft light of the approaching sunrise streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust that swirled in the air. The house was silent. Ian checked his watch. 6:14am. He groaned and sunk back into the couch.  _ What the fuck? _ His head throbbed and his stomach growled. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized how hungry he was. He got up off the couch and steadied himself, still half-asleep, and stumbled towards the stairs.

As he passed Mandy’s room, he stuck his head in the half-open door. Mandy was flat on her back, limbs splayed across the entire bed, snoring, last night’s eyeliner smeared under her eyes and down on to her cheeks. Ian smiled and closed the door, deciding not to wake her. He made his way slowly up the stairs, wary of creaks. The door groaned as he pushed it open and Ian flinched. He paused, listening. Nope, Mandy was still snoring. Mission accomplished. He closed the door behind him.

The upstairs of the Milkovich house was a disaster. Red solo cups, beer cans, empty bottles, and cigarette butts littered the kitchen and dining room. In the living room, Colin and Iggy were passed out on the couches, their limbs draped over the armrests like noodles. Mickey was nowhere in sight. It appeared that Ian was the only person awake, and that all the guests had left several hours before. He immediately felt his anxiety from the previous night dissipate.

It was strange. 24 hours ago, the idea of being in this house alone with the Milkoviches made him inexplicably nervous. Now, the idea of being in this house alone with the Milkoviches made him feel calm, cool, and collected, far more so than he had felt during the party.

Ian opened the fridge and was greeted by the same pizza boxes as the night before. He moved a few things around and found a carton of eggs that were still good. In the fridge door, there was a bag of shredded cheese. He grabbed both and set them on an empty space on the counter. He fumbled around for a pan and eventually found one under the sink, sitting on top of a grocery bag filled with screwdrivers and metal files.

He rinsed the pan in the sink and went to work making scrambled eggs. The only spatula he could find was half-melted, but on the handle side, so it would do.

As he made his breakfast, Colin and Iggy awoke from their slumber, both of them dragging themselves downstairs to their respective bedrooms. Ian chuckled as they passed, Iggy mumbling under his breath about how it was “way too fucking early to be eating”. Ian ignored him and soon he was alone, the sizzle and pop of the eggs on the stove the only thing keeping him company.

“Hey,” a voice said from across the room. Ian practically leapt out of his skin, spinning around with the spatula still in his hand.

Mickey was standing in the entryway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall. 

“Whoa there, killer,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in front of him. He was wearing the same shirt as the night before but had changed into a pair of gray sweatpants. He had on two different colored socks, one black and one green. His lowered his hands and folded his arms across his chest. He looked tired, his eyes puffy, the bloodshot whites a stark contrast to his light blue irises.

Ian sighed and turned back around.

“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize you were awake.” He pushed the eggs around in the pan before reaching for the shredded cheese.

“Ditto,” Mickey said, yawning a huge yawn. “Mandy still sleeping?” he asked.

The power of suggestion grabbed Ian by the throat, and his “yeah” was cut off by a yawn of his own. He and Mickey both laughed at that.

“Shut up,” Ian said, his laugh more of a giggle than a chuckle. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks.  _ What the fuck? _ “She’s good, passed out snoring still.”

“No surprise there,” Mickey said, grinning. “Hey, you wanna throw some bread in that bitch?” he asked, pointing to the slightly dented white toaster on the counter.

Ian nodded and Mickey went to the fridge to retrieve a bag of Wonderbread. How had Ian missed that? He handed the bag to Ian and went back into the living room. Ian put two pieces of bread in the toaster and set it to medium before pressing down the lever.

By 6:47am, Ian and Mickey were eating their breakfast at opposite ends of the room. Ian sat in a lawn chair at the dining room table and Mickey sat on the floral couch. At first they ate in silence, but when the sounds of Ian’s chewing apparently grew too unbearable to handle, Mickey had flipped on the TV to a rerun of “Scooby-Doo Where Are You!”.

Not too long after that, Mandy made an appearance in the kitchen. She was still wearing her clothes from last night, her makeup was smeared all over her face, and her extensions falling out. She looked like hell, and hungover as fuck, like she was trying to decide if she needed to throw up.

“It’s seven in the morning, Mickey,” she grumbled as she made her way from the back corner by the stairs to the dining room where Ian sat. “Ya mind not blasting cartoons and waking up the whole fucking house?”

“Oh fuck you, I can barely hear it and I’m right here.” Mandy flipped off her brother and he returned the favor, making Ian chuckle.

Mandy turned to Ian, her eyes going from his face to the plate of eggs in front of him. Apparently, the mere sight of a cheesy scramble was enough to make a  _ very _ hungover Mandy sick. She immediately ran to the bathroom. Ian could hear the sounds of Mandy dry-heaving into the toilet and got up to check on her.

In the bathroom, Ian crouched down and rubbed Mandy’s back. When she was done, she leaned against the wall.

“Fuck,” she said, pulling a small towel down from the handlebar and using it to wipe her mouth. “I feel like death. Like actual death. Am I dead?” she asked, and Ian burst out laughing.

“No, you’re not dead, you’re just hungover. But I guess they’re sort of the same thing, right?” Mandy managed a half-hearted laugh at that, then raised her arms in the air. Ian hoisted her up and helped her stand.

“I think a shower would help,” he said. “Where do you guys keep your towels?”

Mandy rubbed her eyes and yawned. She pointed to the cabinet beneath the sink. Ian pulled out a light green bath towel and hung it where the hand towel had been before.

“When you’re done I’ll make you some toast, okay?” Mandy nodded and Ian squeezed her shoulder. He left the bathroom and shut the door behind him, making sure it was latched securely so Mandy could undress and shower in private.

Ian and the Milkoviches spent the rest of the morning cleaning up both themselves and the house, filling eight garbage bags with cups and cans. When they were finished, Colin brought a Nintendo 64 up from his room and plugged it into the TV. They loaded up Mario Kart, Iggy and Colin making quick work of the 16 courses in the Grand Prix. Ian and Mandy sat on the duct taped couch, Mandy curled up in the corner closest to the TV, still hungover and nauseous, her head on Ian’s shoulder. Iggy and Colin wrapped up their race, Colin beating Iggy by such a miniscule amount it sparked an immediate demand for a rematch.

“No rematches!” Mickey shouted at his brothers from the floral couch. “Pass ‘em over,” he said, making a grabby claw with his hand. Iggy rolled his eyes and reluctantly handed Mickey his controller. Colin leaned backwards and handed his controller to Ian.

“You and me, Gallagher,” Mickey said, shooting Ian the mischievous look that made his heart leap up into his throat like the night before.  _ What the fuck? _

They played the 16 rounds, Mickey beating Ian by an embarrassingly large margin. Mandy’s hangover and subsequent comedown had started to taper off, and she was slowly transforming back into her usual chatterbox self.

“Oh come on, Mick, that’s just cruel,” she said when Mickey’s score flashed across the screen.

“Psssh,” Mickey responded, raising his eyebrows. “It’s fine. I’m pretty sure Gallagher can handle the heat.” He looked over at Ian and shot a playful gaze in his direction. “Ain’t that right, Gallagher?”

If Ian had died right then and there, it would have been less obvious. Instead of quietly passing away on the couch, he felt the blood rush to his cheeks, knowing instantly what shade of red his face had become. The goosebumps at the base of his neck were back with a vengeance, and the wispy ginger hairs on his arms stood on end. Mickey was still staring directly at him, as was Mandy. He averted his eyes, looking over to the TV screen that said “Congratulations, Bowser! You placed 1st!” in bright flashing letters. When he glanced up again, he saw Mickey looking at him in a new, more curious manner. It was almost as if he was sizing Ian up, the same dagger-sharp once-over already in progress. Ian could hear the blood rushing in his ears as his cheeks grew hotter.

“Y-yeah,” Ian stammered.  _ Idiot _ , he thought to himself.  _ Get it together. What the fuck? _

He looked over at Mandy, who was looking at him as if to say, “Explain yourself, now”. Ian looked away and got up from the couch so fast it made his head spin.

“Gotta pee,” he said.  _ Nice. _

He rushed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stared at himself in the mirror. It was worse than he thought. He was blushing like a pre-teen with a massive crush. And somehow,  _ somehow _ , it wasn’t until that very moment that Ian put two and two together.

No. Impossible. Absolutely not.

He absolutely did not have a crush on Mickey Milkovich. He absolutely did not have a crush on his fake girlfriend’s older brother. He absolutely did not have a crush on an ex-convict with a felony drug conviction. No. Absolutely not.

He splashed cold water on his face and tried to slow his racing heart. This was ridiculous. He barely knew the guy and yet, a snarky quip and a sneaky gaze had left him hiding in the bathroom like a hormonal twelve year old.  _ Jesus Christ, Ian, _ he thought to himself, breathing in and out in counts of six. When he finally regained an acceptable amount of composure, he flushed the toilet and ran the sink for a few seconds to really send home his excuse for leaving the room.

When he emerged from the bathroom, the siblings were all engaged in an intense discussion. Ian sat back down next to Mandy, who insisted that out of all the characters, Yoshi was the best. Mickey disagreed, pointing out the benefits of choosing Bowser, and Iggy and Colin debated about the merits of Luigi versus Wario.

After he was settled back in his spot, Mandy leaned over and put her hand on Ian’s knee.

“All good?” she asked him, the look in her eyes unreadable. If Ian had to describe it, he’d probably say that Mandy looked intrigued. But intrigued by what, specifically? As if he didn’t know.  _ Shit. _

“Yeah, all good,” he replied, wiping his hands along his jeans as if to dry them.

Mickey shot a glance in his direction yet again, and instantly Ian felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He leapt off the couch, startling Mandy, whose hand slipped from his knee and on to the cushion.

“Actually,” he said, his voice a little too loud and fast for the given circumstances, “I should probably get going. I told Fiona I’d take down the pool today, and I need to get last night’s film developed.”  
Mandy groaned.

“I swear to god if anyone took pictures of me without me knowing, I’ll track them down and make them eat their own teeth,” Mandy sneered, rubbing her temple.

“I’ll let you know,” Ian said with a small smile. He ran downstairs in a flash and grabbed his camera, then went back upstairs to grab his duffel from the side of the couch. He leaned down and kissed the top of Mandy’s head. 

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

Mandy nodded and squeezed his hand. Ian shot one last glance at Mickey, who was loading up another round of Mario Kart against Colin.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys around,” he said, trying to keep his tone cool and casual.

“See ya, man!” Iggy said back, munching on his leftover toast. Colin and Mickey were silent, locking in their characters, but Colin managed a small wave over his shoulder.

Ian left the Milkovich house in a rush, hopping down the stairs and out onto the street like a startled rabbit. He decided that he was too flustered to go straight home, so he made his way up South Trumbull until he got to Cermak, then walked the four blocks to the Fotomat.

He dropped off his film with the pierced, pink-haired attendant and walked two more blocks to the McDonalds, where he used three crumpled dollar bills to buy an Egg McMuffin and an orange juice. He sat in one of the booths and waited. He remembered that he had his walkman and earbuds in his duffel, and pulled them out to pass the time.

Inside the portable CD player was a mix that Mandy had made him a few months back as one of their “anniversary gifts”. He pressed the button with the sideways triangle and listened as the tinny guitar chords began playing.

> _ “With your feet on the air and your head on the ground, try this trick and spin it, yeah, your head will collapse, if there's nothing in it, and you'll ask yourself, where is my mind?” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N3oCS85HvpY&ab_channel=i%27mcyborgbutthat%27sok)) _

After about 45 minutes, Ian made his way back to the Fotomat to pick up his pictures. The attendant handed him a folder stuffed with the developed photos and the original negatives and told him that his total was $17.88 with tax. He handed her Mickey’s $20 bill and stuffed the change in his back pocket.

As he made his way down Cermak and on to North Wallace, he opened the folder and began looking through [the pictures](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/643948275985268736/photos-found-on-ians-roll-of-film-from-the-night). There was the shot of the balloons he had taken, one of Mandy smoking a cigarette and looking off into the distance, several shots of the party crashers and the messy beer pong table, one shot of a few kids that had climbed up on the roof, and the picture Mandy snapped of Ian that had left him temporarily blind.

When he got to the last photo, all of the air escaped from his lungs and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Mickey.

Someone, at some point during the party, had grabbed Ian’s camera and used it to take a picture of Mickey, who sat on the duct taped couch in his black cutoff shirt. He was looking down at the floor, the light from overhead shining on the right side of his face, and he was smiling as if someone had just told a joke.

Ian held the picture in his hands and stared at it for who knows how long. He felt the heat in his cheeks, the electricity in his spine, the goosebumps on his neck. He felt everything he had felt in Mickey’s presence, only now he was alone, three blocks from his house, standing on the sidewalk, holding a photo of Mickey Milkovich in his hands.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Ian slid the photo in his back pocket. Why he didn’t just put it back with the rest of the stack, he didn’t really know. All he knew was that in that moment, he felt compelled to hide it, as if the photo itself was a scandalously dark secret.

As he walked home with the picture in his pocket and the folder under his arm, he thought to himself that he was being a little ridiculous. He didn’t like Mickey Milkovich. Well, he  _ liked _ him, in the sense that he thought he was nice and funny and pretty fucking cool when you got right down to it, but he didn’t  _ like-like _ him. He couldn’t like him. After all, he was dating his sister, for all intents and purposes. Sure, it was a fake relationship, and sure, Ian was most definitely gay, but still. There was no reason for him to feel the way he felt right now, respond to Mickey’s presence or image in the way that he did. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever that he should be feeling these fluttery pre-teen butterflies in his stomach. Yet, the photo was in his pocket, and he had no plans to remove it until he got back to the safety of his bedroom, where he would inevitably hide it inside of one of Mandy’s left-behind Tiger Beat magazines shoved under his mattress. 

He definitely didn’t have a crush on Mickey Milkovich. He definitely didn’t spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about Mickey Milkovich while taking down the pool with Debbie and Carl. He definitely didn’t think about the photo under his mattress during dinner, or afterwards when they all sat in the living room watching a rerun of “Full House”, or later when he helped get Liam into his dinosaur pajamas and up into his bed. He definitely didn’t sneak the photo out from under his bed later that night, after Carl and Liam were fast asleep. No, because that would be crazy, right? That’s something crazy people do.

Maybe he  _ was _ going crazy. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he’d hallucinated the past 24 hours.

But he hadn’t. And the proof was there, in his hands, illuminated only by the streetlights outside. 

Ian sighed and put the picture back in its hiding place. Maybe he was a little crazy. Was that so bad? He didn’t know. He’d think about it in the morning. He closed his eyes and his mind wandered. He wondered if he would ever know who took the picture. He wanted to know who had been bold enough to snap a photo of the boy with the “FUCK U-UP” tattoos and the drug conviction. He wanted to know what had been said that had made Mickey laugh. But more than anything, he couldn’t help but feel insanely jealous of whoever those people were. He wanted to make Mickey laugh and take his picture, a picture he wouldn’t feel compelled to hide under his mattress. His exhausted brain felt utterly insane with how much he wanted that.

The last thought that crossed Ian’s mind before he passed out was the same that had been ringing in his ears all day. 

_ What the fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This was a long one, so go get yourself a glass of water and snack and re-charge before you dive in to your next fic!
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, comments, and theories! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr (thisaintmacys-bitch.tumblr.com) and feel free to drop by and say hello!
> 
> Sending love,  
> Macy


	3. My Own Worst Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian was endlessly fascinated by Mickey and his confident, almost cocky demeanor. He wanted to know him. He wanted to crack a joke and make him laugh so he’d smile in the same way he did in the photo under his mattress. He wanted a lot of things, but he didn’t dare admit that to anyone but himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being so patient with me getting this chapter out! These past few weeks have been crazy busy and I didn't want to put out anything I wasn't 100% happy with! Special thanks to Mel, Cat, and Stella for making me smile and laugh and for keeping me sane over the past couple of weeks.
> 
> As usual, the photos mentioned in this chapter can be found at iansphotobook.tumblr.com and the spotify playlist will be linked below!
> 
> Thank you for the love on Chapter 2 and THANK YOU for 1,000 hits - I genuinely didn't think even 30 people would read this but I'm so glad y'all are enjoying it!

**Chicago’s Southside Neighborhood, September 4, 1999**

In the week following Mickey’s welcome home party, Ian had spent every evening laying in bed, looking at the photo hidden in the magazine under his mattress. He never pulled it out unless he was absolutely, positively certain that Carl and Liam were fast asleep. He ran his fingers along the shadow at Mickey’s jawline, over his perfect nose, and thought about what it would be like to touch him. Not even in a sexual way, really, which Ian found surprising. All of his encounters with guys up to this point had been purely sexual, almost aggressive in their nature, and even a little off-putting at times. All of the usual twists in his gut weren’t from the fear of keeping a secret, or for the fear of getting caught, but rather from the excitement of the unknown and the unexplored. Mickey was an enigma that Ian was desperate to decode, even if they were still practically strangers.

The first Saturday of September, two weeks after the party, there was a cheer expo on the Northside. Ian and Mandy would be shepherding their flock of pom-pom clad teens to the event at the request of their coach, Roxanne.

Roxanne had been the coach of the Lincoln Grove High School cheer squad since 1994, long before Ian and Mandy were on the squad, much less co-captains. She was warm and bright and easily excited, and the influx of awards and accolades that had come with Ian’s entrance on to the squad had made her peppier than ever.

As the squad piled on to the bus, two to a seat, Roxanne was doling out compliments and encouragement.

“Remember this is  _ just _ an expo, so the usual competition pressure isn’t there! Focus on having fun and nothing else! Well, focus on the routine of course, but other than that just enjoy yourselves! Buddy, I’m loving the energy! Everyone please match that energy, okay?” The squad cheered and hollered. Ian looked over at Mandy, his forever seat partner. She was checking her makeup in a small mirror she had pulled from her purse. She wore a huge smile and her lips were painted with red lipstick so bright, it bordered on orange. 

“You’re awfully happy for eight in the morning,” he teased, nudging her with his shoulder. Mandy shrugged and scrunched up her nose.

“I’m in a good mood,” she said as she reached back into her purse. She pulled out a clear lip gloss and started applying it in the makeup mirror.

“Any particular reason?” Ian asked, raising his eyebrows slightly and nudging her again.

“Ian! Do  _ not _ make me fuck up my lipstick! I’ll fucking murder you,” she hissed, elbowing him hard in the ribs. Because she had been on the squad for so long, she was stronger than the average teenage girl. That, and growing up with three older brothers. Whatever the reason, Ian let out a small “oof!” and a “hey!”

“Jesus, Mandy!” he said, but there wasn’t any bite in his words. He watched as Mandy used her pinky fingernail to clean up the edges of the lipstick.

“To answer your question,” she said, not acknowledging the elbow jab from hell she had just delivered to her best friend, “I am  _ awfully happy _ because I’m just happy, okay? I don’t know, I’m, like, happy with my life right now. And I haven’t felt that way in a long time, so don’t spoil it for me!” She closed the mirror with a  _ click! _ and put her things away. Ian laughed.

“So things are good at the house?” Ian asked as he pulled out his walkman and handed an earbud to Mandy.

“Oh yeah,” she said, putting the earbud in. “Way better now that Mickey’s back. And Terry being MIA is definitely a bonus. Don’t miss that piece of shit one bit.” Mandy smirked, her eyes all squinty. 

“I’ll bet,” Ian said, as he popped in one of the CD’s Mandy had made for him and pressed play.

> _ “ _ _ And they said that when we grew up, we'd get married, and never split up, oh, we never did it, although I often thought of it…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NzNZoPPW6s&ab_channel=Pulp-Topic)) ([spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5CWGksc2glFfSoRpKl3CMJ?si=4aca31d273e8459b)) _

Mandy pulled a pack of Zebra stripe gum from her purse and handed a piece to Ian. It was part of their little routine for competitions and expos. Seat partners, shared earbuds, fleetingly delicious gum, and a post-event ice cream at the Baskin Robbins down the road from the Gallagher house. Mandy would get vanilla or butterscotch; Ian always got chocolate mint. Then, they would go back to Ian’s and watch a movie with whoever happened to be at the house that day. They both found comfort in these little rituals.

They sat and listened to the mixtape for a few minutes. Mandy, much like Iggy, liked to make her compilations as random as possible. As “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls faded out, “1979” by The Smashing Pumpkins faded in, the drum beat heavy against their eardrums.

> _ “June bug skipping like a stone, with the headlights pointed at the dawn, we were sure we'd never see an end to it all…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr58WHo2ndM&ab_channel=nikolak29)) _

“Hey,” Mandy said, tapping a polished finger on Ian’s knee. “You feel like shaking things up a bit today?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“In what way?” Ian snapped his gum and Mandy shot him a pointed glare.

“Cut that shit out,” she said, jokingly sticking her finger in the corner of Ian’s mouth. He slapped away her hand, laughing. “How do you feel about hanging out at my house for a change?”

Ian raised his eyebrows, but he wasn’t surprised. He knew it was only a matter of time before Mandy suggested they hang out at her place. For the past year or so, the Gallagher house had been Mandy’s sanctuary away from Terry and the chaos of the Milkovich household, which was apparently a never-ending revolving door of distant cousins. Now that Terry was gone, wherever he was, the energy at the Milkovich house had completely transformed. 

First, the revolving door had jammed in his absence, not a cousin to be seen for the past four weeks. Second, Mickey’s presence was apparently the adhesive that held the Milkovich siblings together, meaning Mandy had regained a sense of closeness with her brothers that was lacking during Mickey’s time in prison. Instead of going home at 10 like usual, she had been going home around 7. When Ian asked what they did in the evenings, Mandy told him about how they had started playing music together again. Apparently they hadn’t played anything together since before Laura died and, with Terry in the wind, they decided to give it a shot. As it turned out, playing music was like riding a bicycle to a Milkovich, something you’ll never forget.

Mandy looked at Ian, waiting for his response.

He thought about it for a second. He’d promised Fiona he would watch Liam until six, and he couldn’t back out of that. However, the idea of potentially seeing Mickey in the flesh, instead of just in the photo, sent a chill down Ian’s spine and made his stomach twist up in a not-entirely-awful way. He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t considered the potential negative implications of allowing himself to develop a crush on Mickey Milkovich, and they were  _ numerous _ . Unfortunately, none of them were enough to quell Ian’s growing curiosity about the dark-haired boy whose picture he had tucked away like yet another deep, dark secret.

Ian was endlessly fascinated by Mickey and his confident, almost cocky demeanor. He wanted to know him. He wanted to crack a joke and make him laugh so he’d smile in the same way he did in the photo under his mattress. He wanted a lot of things, but he didn’t dare admit that to anyone but himself. Still, the idea of possibly  _ hanging out _ with Mickey at the Milkovich house, listening to the siblings play music, sipping sodas like the night of the party, made Ian’s heart leap into his throat.

“Gotta watch Liam until Fiona’s home,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as to appear casual. He didn’t want to seem too excited, since there wasn’t really an overt reason for him to be. Play it cool, he told himself. “Maybe after?”

“Yes! After is great,” Mandy said, squeezing his arm. She laid her head on his shoulder and they spent the rest of the bus ride bobbing their heads in sync as the random rotation of songs played in their ears.

**The Gallagher House (2119 North Wallace), Same Day, 5pm**

The expo had come and gone without incident, the squad receiving a standing ovation for their performance. Ian and Mandy had stopped for ice cream, walking the three blocks from the shop to the Gallagher house, where they had put on “Back to the Future” to watch with Debbie and Liam, since Carl was already gone at a friend’s house for a sleepover. Mandy french-braided Debbie’s hair while they watched the movie, and Ian held a sleeping Liam on his lap, who was worn out from morning daycare. When they finished the movie around 5, Mandy was painting Debbie’s nails with hot pink polish. She blew gently on Debbie’s fingers and tapped them to make sure they were completely dried. When they weren’t sticky anymore, Mandy squeezed Debbie’s knee and stood up from where they sat on the floor.

“Will you be good to walk over if I head out a bit early?” She grabbed her duffel and threw it over her shoulder.

“Yeah, definitely. Need me to bring anything?” 

Mandy furrowed her brow at Ian’s question, thinking.

“Nope, I think we’re good. Just bring your cute ass self,” she said, smirking. She reached down and mussed at Debbie’s curls before giving her a kiss on the top of her head. Then, she leaned over to where Ian and Liam sat, giving the both of them a kiss on the cheek. Liam stirred slightly, a tiny smile creeping across his face. Mandy and Ian both chuckled at that.

After Mandy left, Debbie grabbed the Gallaghers’ copy of “Hocus Pocus” and popped it in the VHS player.

“Really, Debs? Halloween isn’t for another two months.”

“True,” Debbie said, pressing play. She didn’t expend any effort explaining or defending herself, and the total silence that fell over the room while the government warnings about copyright and piracy flashed across the screen made Ian chuckle. Debbie was a nut, but he loved her for it.

Debbie jumped a bit as Thackery Binx leapt on Max’s shoulder when he tried to light the black flame candle. Ian giggled and Liam opened his eyes.

“Hey buddy,” Ian said, running his hand over Liam’s hair.

“Hi,” Liam said in a tiny, sleepy voice. He nuzzled into Ian’s chest and closed his eyes again.

“No, no, no, buddy, you’ve gotta wake up or you’ll never sleep tonight!”

“No,” Liam protested in a tiny voice. “I’m tired.” He still couldn’t pronounce his “R’s” very well, so it sounded like “tie-word”. Ian grinned at his brother and gave him a squeeze and a small shake. Liam giggled and eventually crawled off of Ian’s lap and on to the floor to play with his legos. 

Five minutes after six, Fiona walked in the front door in her Patsy’s uniform, a pile of aluminum food containers in her arms. She went to the kitchen and stuck them in the fridge, then came to the living room and scooped up Liam, smooching him all over his face as he squealed and laughed.

“Hey Fi,” Ian said, smirking at his sister who was bouncing side to side with Liam on her hip. “I’m gonna go to Mandy’s for a bit, that cool?”

Fiona shot him a look, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” she asked, trying her hardest to sound non-judgmental. It wasn’t the fact that he was going to  _ Mandy’s _ that made Fiona hesitant, she loved Mandy, but rather that he was going to the Milkovich house. When Ian had told Fiona about the party, obviously only telling her what she  _ needed  _ to know and not a single word more, she had asked about the Milkovich brothers and Terry. 

“So how do they know Terry’s like, gone? Like  _ actually _ gone, like it sounds like he is. What does that even mean? Is he on a bender somewhere like Frank, or is he in the basement of someone’s yacht chained to a pole, pissing in a bottle like Jimmy?”

“Car thief Jimmy?” Ian had asked, grinning around his peanut butter toast. Jimmy was Fiona’s shady ex-boyfriend from a few years back and, despite his absence, he was still the butt of many family jokes.

“Yes, Ian, car thief Jimmy. I mean, even though I know Frank isn’t a violent piece of shit like Terry, it doesn’t mean I don’t worry about him showing back up here and fucking everything up again, like always. How can they be so certain?”

“I’m not sure that they are,” Ian said, his mouth full. Fiona waved a finger at his throat with an “ _ ah! _ ”, telling him to swallow before speaking. He did, then went back to talking. “I feel like maybe they’re just taking it day by day until he shows back up. Same way we do with Frank. Just trying to have fun in his absence, ya know?” 

He bit into the toast again, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. It wasn’t like he wasn’t curious about that little tidbit too, but it wasn’t exactly weighing on him anymore. Being in the Milkovich house, sans Terry, had been a surprisingly enjoyable experience for him, one he wanted to experience again as soon as possible, which even surprised himself. He never imagined he’d be looking forward to an opportunity to get invited back over to the Milkovich’s, even if the idea did still make him nervous. 

If Fiona asked, he was nervous about Terry, just like she was. But the truth was, the only thing at the Milkovich house that had made Ian nervous was Mickey, and that sort of nervousness wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, he wanted to feel that nervousness again. He wanted to feel the electricity in his spine, the goosebumps at the base of his neck, and he felt like he would do damn near anything for a chance to feel that again.

Fiona had let it go after a few more back-and-forths, and didn’t give Ian that same “you sure about this?” expression again until just now.

Ian stared at Fiona standing by the fireplace, Liam in her arms, a small red stain (spaghetti sauce? blood?) on her left sleeve. She eyed him, waiting for a response.

“Anyone else gonna be there?” Fiona asked when Ian struggled to come up with a response. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Just Mandy’s brothers, Iggy and Colin. And Mickey too,” he said, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped when he said Mickey’s name. Now was not the time for his teenage hormones to make their appearance.

“It’s cool though,” he continued, not wanting Fiona to worry while he was gone. She had enough on her plate already. “I swear. I had a good time at the party, her brothers are...nice,” he said, hesitating slightly on the last word. Maybe “nice” wasn’t the best word to describe them. Yes, they were  _ nice _ in the conventional sense that they didn’t give Ian a wedgie or a swirly like they would have had they met in school, but there was still that ever-present tone of Milkovich chaos. It was a vastly different kind of chaos that Ian had yet to adapt to. 

Still, growing up in the throes of Gallagher chaos had turned each and every one of the kids into a chaos junkie in one form or another. For Fiona, it was mysterious and interesting men. For Lip, it was girls with free spirits and limited inhibitions. It would appear that for Ian, the Milkoviches were his drug of choice. He couldn’t help it. It was more like the Milkoviches were dropped into his life, rather than he was into theirs. He knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, or whatever the saying was.

Fiona conceded, agreeing that it was fine for Ian to hang out there, so long as he called if he planned to stay past midnight. He agreed, then went upstairs to throw a few things in his duffel. The red “I. Gallagher” on the side of his bed stared up at him as he filled the bag with a change of clothes (just in case), his toothbrush, his walkman and a few CDs, and his camera. He looked around for an extra roll of film, finding one in the drawer of his bedside table. He zipped up the bag, tossed it over his shoulder, and made his way back downstairs.

Before he left, he planted kisses on the tops of Liam and Debbie’s heads before heading into the kitchen to hug Fiona. He made his way out the back door, across the backyard to the alley, and four blocks over to South Trumbull. He felt electrified, practically buzzing with excitement. He had no idea what to expect when he got there. Last time, he knew what he was walking in to. Well, sort of. He knew there would be a party of some magnitude, and he could mentally prepare himself for that.

This time, he was walking in blind. The idea both terrified and excited him, and he practically sprinted the last block until he was finally there, standing at the gate, looking up at the house with the broken windows beside the L. 

He pushed open the gate, which made a strained screeching sound in protest, and made his way up the front steps.

**The Milkovich House (1955 South Trumbull), Same Day, 6:30pm**

Ian knocked on the front door, three quick pounds, before stepping back to wait for someone to answer it. Someone never came. He knocked again, leaning around the staircase and peering in the front window. He couldn’t see much, but it was darker than he expected it to be.

As if to answer the question forming in his brain, he heard music coming from the basement through the tiny too-high windows. It was muffled and the windows were dark, leaving Ian even more confused.

He went back to the front door and twisted the handle. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He pushed the door open and, after a brief hesitation, went inside.

The living room, dining room, and kitchen looked basically the same as the last time he was here, with random beer cans scattered on the table and the Nintendo console plugged in to the TV. All of the lights were off except for the one in the back of the kitchen by the basement door. Ian made his way to the far corner of the house and noticed that, like the front door, all of the locks on the basement door were unlatched, welcoming virtually anyone into the Milkovich kids’ sanctuary. 

Ian had to admit, Fiona was right. It did seem like the Milkoviches were being cavalier about one of “Southside’s Most Wanted” being MIA and able to pop back into their lives at any moment, without warning. At least when Frank came back from a bender, the worst thing that happened was that he passed out in one of the kids’ beds covered in his own vomit. It would take two or three washes to get rid of the smell, but Fiona was always able to roll him off the bed, down the stairs, and back on to the street “where he belonged” so the kids could reclaim their beds. Ian knew that the same things could not be said for the Milkoviches. Mandy had told him about Terry before. Not everything, but enough to know what kind of person he was and about some of the horrible shit he had put Mandy and her brothers through. He knew there was probably way more to the story than Mandy had ever shared, but he never pressed for more information. 

Ian turned the handle on the basement door. It opened easily and quietly compared to the front gate, and he slowly made his way down the stairs.

He stopped about four steps down when he realized that the music coming from the basement wasn’t from one of Iggy’s mixtapes. He recognized Mandy’s voice instantly, the raspy soprano belting out the lyrics to “My Own Worst Enemy” by Lit. Ian recognized it from Mandy’s most recent mixtape.

> _ “It's no surprise to me, I am my own worst enemy, 'cause every now and then, I kick the living shit out of me. The smoke alarm is going off and there's a cigarette, still burning…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sc5iTNVEOAg&ab_channel=LitVEVO)) _

Ian took a few more steps and crouched down on the stairs, leaning under the railing so that he could see into the back of the basement. 

Mandy was standing by a microphone stand that Ian didn’t remember from the night of the party. She was singing into the mic and playing the bass simultaneously. Her smile was wide and you could practically hear it in her voice. In the hour or so since he had seen her, she had changed into a pair of gray leggings and an oversized black t-shirt with Joy Division’s “Unknown Pleasures” cover art on the chest. She kept shooting glances at her brothers, specifically Mickey, who stood next to her on the beige and red rug. 

He was wearing a pair of charcoal gray sweatpants and a similar oversized black t-shirt as Mandy, only his shirt had Iron Maiden’s “Piece of Mind” cover art in place of Joy Division. He was wearing two different colored socks like he had the morning after the party, only this time there was one yellow and one red, subtly matching the colors on his shirt. He had the electric guitar slung across his shoulders and was bobbing his head back and forth to the beat of the music. The part of his hair that was longer on top had flipped over and hung loosely across his forehead, flinging side to side as he moved to the music. 

Iggy was doing a similar head bob behind him, playing the drums in a loose gray tank top and acid wash jeans that were two sizes two big. Colin sat at the keyboard, not playing anything himself but fiddling with a small box similar to the electronic amplifier from the party. He was clicking buttons in time with the music. The four of them appeared to be lost in their own world, grinning at each other, shaking their heads, dancing around when the chorus hit. Ian watched from the stairs, unmoving, afraid to blink and miss a second of these new, totally uninhibited Milkoviches. It was a radical departure from the image of the siblings Ian had built, then torn down, then re-built in his mind.

When they got to the last chorus, Ian tried to stand up to walk the rest of the way down to the basement as nonchalantly as possible. As luck would have it, the laces on his sneakers had caught on a loose nail by the railing, and he was immediately yanked back down when he tried to step forward. He stumbled on the stairs, slipping but catching himself before he fell. Unfortunately, his cover was blown, and the music and singing abruptly stopped.

“Gallagher?” Mickey shouted at the stairs, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Hi!” Ian called out, not knowing what else to say. He could feel his cheeks going red and his mouth going dry as he untangled his shoelace and made his way down the rest of the stairs without incident.

“Ian!” Mandy exclaimed, running towards Ian with the bass still hanging across her middle. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “C’mere!” she said, grabbing his hand and leading him to the couch. He sat down and looked over at the brothers, Mickey specifically, while Mandy grabbed him a soda from the mini fridge.

“Mandy said you might stop by,” Mickey said, tapping the strings of the guitar with the pads of his fingers so it made a tinny, metallic sound.

Ian was taken aback by the fact that Mickey was the first one besides Mandy to address him directly. He was almost certain it would have been Iggy.

As if reading Ian’s mind, Iggy piped up from behind the drum set.

“Got any requests?” Iggy said, grinning wildly, hair messed up from his pseudo-headbanging. 

“Requests?” Ian asked.

“For songs!” Mandy said, handing him a 7-Up. “Whaddya wanna hear?” She spoke quickly, her words stringing together, something she did when she was excited. Music made Mandy really,  _ really _ excited, as Ian was beginning to see.

“Um, I’m not sure. What do you guys know?”

The siblings all chuckled, Mandy the loudest of them all.

“You asked me that the first time I showed you around down here,” she teased, poking Ian in the ribs. “And what did I say?”

Ian thought back for a moment.

“I believe it was, ‘What don’t I know?’” Ian said, smirking at Mandy.

“Exactly,” she said, wrinkling her nose and sticking her tongue out at Ian. “So, what do you wanna hear?”

Ian mulled over potential suggestions in his head. He was taken aback by the sudden rush of anxiety that came over him. He knew that whatever he suggested was going to be scrutinized and judged, not so much by Mandy, but definitely by her brothers. Music was their  _ thing _ , just as it had been Laura’s  _ thing _ , and Ian was willing to bet that the brothers took people’s taste in songs and bands very seriously.

He tried to shake the anxiety and decided to go with what he was almost certain was a safe bet.

“Livin’ On A Prayer?” Ian suggested, hesitant, trying his best to sound casual and relaxed. Mandy had put the Bon Jovi song on the very first mixtape she’d given him on their one month “anniversary” back in January, so he knew she liked it. However, her reaction still surprised him.

Mandy smiled so wide, Ian was positive her face was going to crack in half. Her eyes crinkled, as did her nose, and she let out this small squeal that she always did when she was really,  _ really _ excited about something. She turned to Mickey, who was standing by the milk crates, tapping his fingers on the strings of the electric guitar. They exchanged a look that was entirely indistinguishable to Ian.

Mandy turned back to Ian, something akin to glee sparkling in her eyes.

“That’s Mickey’s favorite song,” Mandy said, her smile still impossibly wide.

“Fuck off, it’s not my favorite,” Mickey spat back, rolling his eyes.

“Oh you’re a fucking  _ liar! _ ”

“Takes one to know one, bitch!”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Colin said, exasperated. “You two are insufferable.”

“Fuck you!” Mandy and Mickey said at the exact same time in the exact same tone, both shooting Colin identical dirty looks. The unintentional jinx sent Mandy in to a fit of giggles and Mickey’s hardened expression softened as he rolled his eyes once again.

Ian couldn’t help but grin at the exchange between the siblings. The dynamic between the Milkovich siblings, affectionate cursing and all, reminded him so much of his relationship with Fiona and Lip. It was familiar and predictable and comforting in the best way, and made him feel all warm inside.

“Anyway,” Mandy said after she and Mickey exchanged middle fingers, “that’s a perfect suggestion. Guys?”

“I’m down,” Iggy said, smacking a drumstick against one of the cymbals on the top of the drum set and sending a metal clanging ricocheting around the room.

“Jesus, Ig!” Mickey said, sticking his “K” finger in his ear. “Fine, I’m down.”

Mandy’s face-cracking grin returned. She turned to Colin, who was sitting on the bench beside the keyboard, toying with the mixer.

“Colin, you’ve still got the talkbox sound bite on there?”

Colin nodded, pressing a button on the keyboard. He adjusted it to synthesizer mode and pressed the middle E. The wavy, electronic undertones of the song began playing through the amp. He alternated between playing the introductory chords with his right hand and the long, droning E with his left. After about twenty seconds, Mandy began strumming her bass, the chords identical to Colin’s. Suddenly, Iggy hit the snare drum on his set six times in rapid succession. It made Ian jump a little, taking him by surprise. 

On the down beat, Mickey began playing the familiar tune on his guitar. As soon as he began playing, his face contorted from exasperation to intense focus. He bit his bottom lip as he played, eyes on the ground, head bobbing ever so slightly. Ian watched him, Mickey seemingly unaware of Ian’s gaze. His fingers moved swiftly and quickly as he hit every note effortlessly, perfectly in time with Iggy’s drumming, Mandy’s bass, and Colin’s modulated keyboard sounds. After almost a minute, Mandy started singing into the mic.

> _ “Tommy used to work on the docks, union's been on strike, he's down on his luck, it's tough, so tough. Gina works the diner all day working for her man, she brings home her pay, for love, for love…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDK9QqIzhwk&ab_channel=BonJoviVEVO)) _

Mandy made eyes at Ian while she sang, smirking all the while. Ian smiled back at her, feeling his heart swell. She looked  _ so happy _ in a way that Ian had never seen. His eyes flitted between Mandy and her brothers, and he watched them play with rapt attention.

When the pre-chorus began, Ian found his eyes on Mickey, who was still biting his lip but appeared to be easing into the vibrations of the music. His stance softened, as did his intensely focused eyes. He began moving to the rhythm of the song, swaying in time with the music. Ian tried his best not to be obvious about it, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes were fixated on Mickey as he released his lower lip from the grip of his teeth and stuck out his tongue ever so slightly as they approached the chorus. 

> _ “Woah, we're halfway there, woah, livin' on a prayer, take my hand, we'll make it I swear, woah, livin' on a prayer…” _

When the chorus ended and they transitioned to the brief instrumental interlude, Mickey glanced up from his guitar and over at Mandy. Mandy, however, had her eyes locked on Ian. He didn’t notice Mandy’s look until Mickey’s sudden upward glance shook him out of his mesmerized trance and forced him to find somewhere else to stare. He didn’t want to get caught looking at Mickey in the way he  _ knew _ he was looking at him. Ian knew himself well enough to know that he probably looked like a small child staring at the latest, coolest toy in a Christmas window display. His eyes moved quickly from Mickey to Mandy. In that moment, he saw the curious look in her eyes, her lids lowered, squinting at him with the smallest smirk on her face.

For the next two and a half minutes, Ian made an effort to keep his eyes on Mandy. Occasionally, Mandy would close her eyes while singing the higher, louder parts of the song. These brief interludes allowed Ian to shoot hesitant glances in Mickey’s direction. The more they played, the happier he looked, his petulant attitude from earlier dissolving before Ian’s eyes as he bobbed his head and broke in to the infamous guitar riff around the three minute mark. Ian watched as Mickey’s fingers moved quickly along the strings, the pick between his fingers appearing to bend and warp with every strum.

They rounded out their cover with a thirty second instrumental outro, which ended on a long-held E flat, the reverb from Mickey’s guitar and Mandy’s bass vibrating the walls until Mickey hit one final note and the song was over.

Mandy squealed, sticking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth. She eyed Ian, who was doing his best to avoid looking at Mickey. Unfortunately for him, he was failing miserably. Mickey ran his right hand through his hair, pushing it back off of his forehead where it had fallen. Ian swallowed hard and looked away. When he glanced up at Mandy, she was smiling a tight-lipped smile, her eyes twinkling and her expression playful. Her eyes flitted between Ian and her brother and then settled back on Ian.

“We’re pretty good, huh?” Mandy said, playfully kicking her feet in Ian’s direction.

“That’s an understatement,” Ian said, and he meant it. He was honestly and genuinely astounded. If he closed his eyes and faced the wall, he could have sworn that he spent the last four minutes listening to music from a CD, not an impromptu live performance in the Milkovich basement. He glanced over at Mickey, who rolled his eyes and turned around, taking off his guitar and letting it lean against the milk crates.

“Aww, babe, you’re too sweet,” Mandy said, stepping towards the couch and planting a kiss on Ian’s cheek.

“Get a fuckin’ room,” Mickey said, irritation in his tone but amusement on his face.

Mandy flipped off her brother before turning back around to face Ian.

“Anyway, I think now’s a good time for a break. You hungry?” she asked, removing the bass from where it hung on the hand-painted strap around her shoulders.

Ian nodded. Mandy put the bass back on its stand beside the couch. Colin began playing the intro to “Jump” by Van Halen on the keyboard, which was still in synthesizer mode. Iggy drummed along absentmindedly, effortlessly hitting every beat. The ease with which the Milkovich siblings played their chosen instruments fascinated Ian. He’d heard of people that were naturally inclined towards music, child prodigies and rock stars and such, but he had a hard time believing that an entire family of Southside kids with bad reputations could fit that bill. Nevertheless, there he was, in the Milkovich basement, listening to music that was almost  _ too _ good to be live. Mandy gave Ian’s shoulder a squeeze and went upstairs to get everyone snacks.

Colin and Iggy stopped and started the opening sequence of the song a few times, Colin pressing different buttons and flipping random switches on the mixer. Mickey walked over to the mini fridge and pulled out two diet cokes. He cracked one open and then, in an act that took Ian by surprise, made his way over to the couch and sat down on the opposite end, arm outstretched, handing Ian the other pop. Ian stared at the soda can for a second before reaching out to take it, careful not to let their fingers brush for fear of turning beet red once again and embarrassing himself.

He opened the pop with a crack and Mickey grinned.

They sat and listened to Iggy and Colin play the same tune several more times, and it dawned on Ian that Colin was using the mixer and a few other devices to record their playing.

“Jesus Christ, Colin, if I have to hear that intro one more time I’m gonna blow my fucking brains out,” Mickey said, pinching the bridge of his nose, the repetitious music clearly irritating him. “Play the whole thing or nothing at all.”

Colin flipped Mickey off and Ian let out a small snort. The brothers appeared to have an unspoken understanding, and Iggy and Colin switched from “Jump” to “Love Will Tear Us Apart Again” by Joy Division. Iggy played the steady, repetitious beat on the drums while Colin played the keyboard, which had been switched from the low synthesizer to a setting that produced a higher-pitched, warbling sound.

Mickey grabbed an Altoid tin from the small table beside the couch. Ian sipped his soda, fully expecting Mickey to open the tin and pop a mint in his mouth. Instead, when he opened it, Ian saw at least twenty pre-rolled joints and five blunts resting in the tin. Mickey pulled out one of the joints and snapped the tin shut, then grabbed a yellow lighter from a small glass bowl on the table. 

Mickey put the joint between his lips. The lighter was old and he had to flick it several times before a flame came out. He lit the joint and inhaled, the end opposite his mouth a bright fiery orange, the crackling sound of burning paper muffled by the electronic sounds of Iggy and Colin’s playing.

Ian tried not to stare, but it felt impossible. Everything about Mickey intrigued him. Seeing him play his guitar only egged on Ian’s curiosity. It was as if the universe was saying,  _ “Oh, you’ve got a crush? You ain’t seen nothing yet.” _

Mandy came down the stairs and swiftly made her way to the back of the basement. She saw Ian and Mickey sharing the couch, albeit at opposite ends, and eyed Ian suspiciously. She saw the diet cokes in their hands and the swirling smoke from Mickey’s exhalations hanging in the air. Ian returned her gaze with a “what?” sort of expression, to which Mandy just grinned and handed him a plate filled with cheese, crackers, grapes, and strawberries. She handed a second plate with the same foods to Colin.

“This is for sharing,” she said, eyeing her brothers with a pointed expression. Ian laughed and set the plate down on the empty cushion between himself and Mickey. He grabbed a piece of cheese and a cracker and popped it in his mouth. Iggy and Colin took a brief reprieve from their mini jam session to dive into the snacks.

Mandy went to the mini fridge and grabbed a root beer. She walked back over towards Ian and sat on the floor in front of him, criss-cross-applesauce like a preschooler. She made grabby hands at Ian and he handed her a cracker.

Iggy got up from the drum set and made his way towards Colin’s equipment. Next to a set of pedals on top of a metal box (what the hell were those for?), there was a sound system that had a slot for CDs, cassettes, and a record player on top. He grabbed a cassette tape that was sitting on top of the record player portion of the machine, the blank case and unreadable blue lettering an obvious indicator that it was one of his supremely random mixtapes. He popped it in the slot for tapes and within seconds, the funky beat of New Order’s “Blue Monday” filled the room.

Colin and Iggy joined Mandy on the floor, leaving Mickey and Ian by themselves on the couch. Mickey appeared unbothered, casually smoking, the joint already half-gone. He handed it to Mandy, who puffed on it for a minute before passing it to Ian. Ian took it hesitantly, but not because he was nervous about smoking. He and Mandy regularly got high in the backyard after Fiona got home from work, their anxieties about school, the squad, and their utterly chaotic, unhinged families melting away as the edges of the world softened and their heads climbed in to the clouds. No, it wasn’t weed that made Ian nervous. He knew exactly why his nerves were kicking up, even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He took a drag from the joint and exhaled slowly, extra careful not to cough. When he and Mandy smoked together, coughing was whatever. They had zero inhibitions around each other at this point.

This was different. Ian had to play it cool,  _ be _ cool, for fear of the Milkovich brothers going in on him for his weak ass lungs or the way his face went pink after a coughing fit. No, Ian would  _ not _ give them that satisfaction. He took one more drag, extra carefully, and handed the joint to Iggy. The five of them passed it around until it was just a stub, which Mickey snuffed out in the glass bowl on the side table. He grabbed the Altoid tin and sparked up another one. As they passed around the second joint, the Milkoviches and Ian chatted about nothing of significance, just casually conversing about their favorite songs and musicians, listening to Iggy’s mix, which had moved from “Blue Monday” to “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac.

> _ “Something's happening, happening to me, my friends say I'm acting peculiarly. Come on, baby, we better make a start, you better make it soon before you break my heart…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YF1R0hc5Q2I&ab_channel=FleetwoodMac)) _

“Top three bands of all time, go.” Mandy said, pointing at Iggy. Iggy thought about it for a second but came up with his answers after a few beats.

“Van Halen, Queen, AC/DC,” he said confidently. His answers didn’t surprise Ian. He’d heard enough of Iggy’s mixtapes at this point to have a pretty good idea of his tastes, despite their complete and utter randomness.

Mandy pointed at Colin, who thought about it for a touch longer than Iggy, but still gave his answers in a confident tone.

“The Rolling Stones, obviously. Does it have to be a band? My other two aren’t bands.”

Mandy shrugged.

“Standalone artists are fine too,” she said, biting into a green grape with a sharp crunch.

“Alright, then in that case, Michael Jackson and Billy Joel.”

“Billy Joel? Really?” Iggy asked.

“It’s about the artistry, Ig,” he said, rolling his eyes. Ian snorted. Mandy’s eyes shot to her faux boyfriend.

“Ian?” she asked. Oh god. He wasn’t prepared for this. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Mandy had been his biggest foray into the world of music, at least outside of what played on the local KISS station. She had introduced him to a plethora of bands and artists he’d never heard of. The Gallaghers didn’t have a lot of money, somehow even less when he was growing up, and his photography hobby was already expensive enough, so buying CDs and cassettes from the record store on Halstead was never a priority. 

To be fair, the Milkoviches didn’t have any money either, possibly even less than the Gallaghers if the state of the house was any reflection of their financial situation. It was obvious though that music was important to them, and therefore held a top spot when it came to spending priorities. Their record collection was massive, the milk crates overflowing, stacks of records on the floor beneath the crates that grew with each passing day. The only reason Ian started listening to anything other than what Fiona and Debbie listened to, which was mostly Spice Girls and Britney Spears as of late, was because Mandy was committed to burning as many CDs as humanly possible and giving them to Ian at any given opportunity. Went to the dentist and didn’t have a cavity? Congrats, you get a CD! Passed your chemistry midterm? Here’s some tunes! Not that Ian was complaining.

He really thought that his music taste was growing and expanding beyond the Top 40, but now that he was sitting there, four pairs of pale blue eyes staring into his soul, his mind was totally blank.

“Come back to me?” he asked, eyes pleading as he tried to suppress the panicked feeling that was rising in his stomach.

Mandy nodded, then looked over at Mickey, who was blowing O’s with the weed smoke.  _ Jesus Christ _ , Ian thought to himself.  _ Lungs of steel. _

He exhaled, a little bit of smoke coming out of his nose. He sniffed, then answered with zero hesitation.

“Bon Jovi, Iron Maiden, Radiohead,” he said, somehow even more confidently than his brothers.

“Nice,” Colin said, leaning forward to bump fists with Mickey. Mickey chuckled and knocked knuckles with his brother. As he leaned forward, his body came dangerously close to Ian’s. Mickey clearly thought nothing of it, but Ian felt the electricity crackling down his spine as Mickey’s oversized t-shirt brushed against his knee. He felt his breath catch in his throat.

Mandy looked at Ian and raised her eyebrows. He schooled his expression as quickly as he could.  _ Play it cool, you idiot. _

“What about you, twenty questions?” Mickey asked Mandy, taking a swig from his pop.

Mandy grinned.

“Fleetwood Mac, Green Day, Joy Division.”

“Hell yeah, Green Day!” Iggy exclaimed, high fiving his sister. They both laughed, the sound easing Ian’s restlessness spurred on by the unexpected close contact with Mickey.

Mandy looked back at Ian, raising her eyebrows again.

“Your turn,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

Ian thought for one second longer, then settled on his answers.

“Um, Nirvana. The Offspring. And maybe David Bowie?”

Mandy clapped her hands.

“Yes, Ian! Perfect choices,” she said, smiling brightly, clearly pleased with her work expanding Ian’s tastes beyond overproduced radio hits.

“Bowie, huh?” Mickey asked, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Wouldn’t have guessed that one from you, Gallagher.”

Ian shrugged.

“He’s cool I guess,” he said, overly nonchalant, which made Mandy gasp dramatically.

“Cool you  _ guess _ ?” she said, her eyes wide. “Bowie invented cool, Ian. Have some respect.” Ian kicked her knee with his shoe and she burst in to giggles.

“She’s not wrong,” Mickey said, grinning around the lip of the soda can.

“Okay best Bowie songs, go,” Mandy said, pointing at Ian. 

“Heroes, hands down,” he said confidently, happy that his brain appeared to be functioning once again.

“Agreed,” Mickey replied, nodding. Ian’s stomach flipped.

“Nah man, ‘Let’s Dance’ is superior,” Colin piped up.

“In what fucking world?” Mickey said, furrowing his eyebrows in response to his brother.

Eventually, after arguing lightheartedly over the rankings of Bowie’s greatest hits, the Milkovich siblings dispersed from the floor to their respective spots on the right side of the room. 

Ian pulled his legs up underneath him on the couch, watching as Mandy fiddled with the tuning pegs on her bass. Mickey slung the strap of his guitar over his shoulders and, without waiting for his siblings to finish getting settled or saying a single word, started strumming out the opening chords to “Heroes”.

Ian’s heart pounded so hard, he could feel the vibrations in his ribcage. Holy shit.

Mandy looked over at Mickey, whose eyes were jumping around and focusing on everything in the room except Ian. She then looked over at Ian, who was glued to the couch, unmoving except for the quick rise and fall of his chest as his breath quickened, eyes focused on nothing except Mickey. She made brief eye contact with her brother and shot him a look as if to say “explain yourself”, the exact same look she had lobbed towards Ian after his mild freakout the morning after the party. 

Mickey shrugged at his sister and continued playing. Iggy came in on the drums, then Colin began playing the keyboard, adding the synthesizer sound with the mixer. Finally, Mandy slung the bass over her shoulders and let it rest against her back. She grabbed the mic with both hands and started singing.

> _ “I, I will be king, and you, you will be queen, though nothing will drive them away, we can beat them, just for one day…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXgkuM2NhYI&ab_channel=DavidBowie)) _

Ian tried his best to tear his eyes away from Mickey, who refused to make eye contact. Finally, he broke his stare and looked over at Mandy, who was swaying and singing, all the while making these curious eyes at Ian. He couldn’t hold her gaze for long, the knowing look on her face making his ears burn. He looked back over at Mickey, and was shocked to see that he was staring right at him.

Ian felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He was absolutely positive that his face was as red as his hair. For some weird reason, he didn’t feel the need to run away like last time. In fact, he was pretty sure he couldn’t lift himself off the couch if he tried. His bones had apparently turned to jelly, and the muscles in his legs felt weak and shaky, like after he went for a run. All he could do was watch Mickey, who bobbed his head gently to the beat, strumming out the iconic chord progression effortlessly.

When Mandy got to the last verse, Ian and Mickey were making zero attempt to conceal the fact that they were openly and obviously staring at each other. If Iggy and Colin noticed, they didn’t act like it at all. Mandy, on the other hand, watched them intently, waiting for one of the boys to break.

> _ “I, I can remember standing by the wall, and the guns shot above our heads, and we kissed, as though nothing could fall, and the shame was on the other side. Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever, then we could be heroes, just for one day…” _

The intense staring contest was finally broken when Mickey bit his lower lip and smiled at Ian, this impish, teasing, lighthearted smile that took Ian completely by surprise. Ian’s breath caught in his throat yet again, and his eyes flew to the floor. His face felt hot, his heart raced, and he was absolutely certain that Mandy had been watching the entire exchange.

He fiddled with the tab on his pop as they finished the song, then applauded as the final note hung in the air, flashing a bright smile at Mandy in an attempt to play off the embarrassment that ran rampant inside of him. Mandy smirked, her lips pressed tightly together, as if she was desperately trying to hold in her words. 

“Ian, can you help me with something upstairs?” she said, nodding her head towards the staircase and raising her eyebrows one, two, three times in succession as she set down her bass.

“Um, yeah. Totally,” he managed, cheeks still hot and flushed. He willed his legs to let him stand, and they did. Together, he and Mandy made their way up the stairs while Mickey, who was acting as if everything was  _ completely  _ normal, began strumming a random chord progression.

When they got upstairs, Mandy started laying in to Ian, hurling her tiny fists at his chest, not actually making any attempt to hurt him like she usually did with her brothers. It was playful, and Ian grabbed her wrists to get her to stop as she shoved him up against the wall.

“You bastard!” she said, smiling wickedly.

“What the fuck?” Ian asked, confused but not oblivious to what Mandy was referring to.

“ _ You _ , you idiot. You’re a bastard,” she said again, her smile widening, teeth glowing beneath the fluorescent lights.

“Why?” he asked, and Mandy laughed.

“You totally have a crush on my brother,” she said, wiggling her wrists from his grasp.

Ian sputtered, every word in the English language escaping his brain at the exact same moment. When a few of them came back, he composed himself enough to try and convince Mandy that she had no idea what she was talking about.

“I do not,” he said in protest.

“You  _ so _ do,” she said, hurling a fist into his shoulder.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“ _ Do not. _ ”

Mandy reached up and, with an open hand, whacked Ian on the top of his head.

“The fuck?” he exclaimed, clamping his own hand down at the stinging spot where the slap had landed.

“ _ Ian, _ ” she said, grabbing his shirt in her fists. “I know you.”

Ian couldn’t argue with that. Other than Fiona and Lip, Mandy knew him better than anyone. She was the only person on earth who knew that he was gay, and therefore the only one who could probably say definitively when he was acting like a lovestruck puppy.

“Mandy, I do not have a crush on your brother,” he said adamantly. Mandy rolled her eyes.

“Alright, have it your way,” she said, releasing her grip on his shirt and crossing her arms, giving him a mischievous smirk.

“Besides,” he said, “even if I did, which I don’t, it isn’t like anything would happen anyway.”

A peculiar expression flashed across Mandy’s face for a split second before the mischievous smirk returned.

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“ _ Mandy. _ ”

“ _ Nuh-thing. _ ” 

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, each of them waiting for the other to break.

Ian broke first, surprising neither of them.

“Okay  _ fine, _ maybe I do. So what? Nothing’s gonna come of it anyway, and it’s stupid, and I’m trying to pretend like I don’t so I can make it go away.”

Mandy started laughing hysterically.

“What’s funny?” Ian asked, shooting a pointed glare at his best friend.

“You, Ian. You’re fucking hilarious _. _ ‘Make it go away’,  _ psssh _ . Crushes aren’t colds, babe. You can’t will them away with a positive attitude and vitamin C.”

Ian rolled his eyes.

“It’s dumb. Forget I said anything. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

Mandy hummed the same seemingly doubtful “ _ mmm-hmm _ ” as before and bit her lip to keep a ridiculous smile from spreading across her face.

“If you say anything--” Mandy cut him off with another slap at the top of his head, this one not nearly as stinging as before.

“Shut the fuck up,” she said, but her words were punctuated with laughter. “I’m not going to say anything, Ian, Jesus Christ. Have a little faith in your  _ girlfriend. _ ”

Ian rolled his eyes but smiled, nudging Mandy on her shoulder with his elbow.

“You know I can keep secrets.”

Ian knew this. Of course he knew this. Mandy was perhaps the most loyal person he had ever met, and that was definitely saying something. To Gallaghers, loyalty and trust were the ultimate cornerstones of relationships, both romantic and platonic. Even then, Ian had never seen loyalty and commitment like Mandy’s.

“Are you upset?” he asked, and she looked genuinely confused.

“Upset? As if! Ian, good lord. I love you but  _ come on. _ Use your brain.”

He gave her a lighthearted shove and she shoved him back, and they started roughhousing halfheartedly like a couple of kids.

“’Ey!” Mickey shouted from downstairs, startling the both of them. “You two up there fucking or something? Get your asses back down here and bring us some beer!”

Iggy and Colin whooped and hollered, sending Ian and Mandy into a fit of laughter. They grabbed a six pack of Old Style from the fridge and turned to make their way downstairs.

“Hey,” Ian said, grabbing Mandy’s upper arm before she started down the staircase. “Promise you won’t say anything?”

Mandy rolled her eyes and grinned.

“Pinky promise,” she said, extending her right pinky finger towards Ian. Ian linked it with his own. They both leaned in and kissed their thumbs, then pressed them together.

“Sealed with a kiss,” Mandy said, and Ian snorted. Apparently, the pinky-promise-thumb-kiss was something Laura had done with Mandy and her brothers when they were little, and Ian thought it was cute. They’d made it one of their many “things”, as they did, the two of them clinging desperately to the happy memories from their childhoods.

Mandy reached up and tousled Ian’s hair. He swatted her hand away and she giggled, then bounced down the stairs with the six pack in her arms. Ian took a deep breath and followed her into the basement.

**The Milkovich Basement (1955 South Trumbull), September 28, 1999**

Mandy being in the know about Ian’s crush on Mickey proved to be highly advantageous.

Ian enjoyed spending time at the Milkoviches’ house, so much so that he’d spent at least a third of his evenings there over the past few weeks. It wasn’t just Mickey that drew him in, although Mickey  _ was _ the main factor and Ian’s predominant fixation. Still, just being in the basement, spending time with the Milkovich siblings in any combination, made Ian’s heart soar.

Outside of Fiona and Lip, he really didn’t have many close friends until Mandy. With Mandy came the squad, and subsequently a string of casual friendships, but nothing that could hold a candle to the closeness between Ian and Mandy. They still only hung out with each other despite being co-captains. The excuse that they were dating actually made it easier to get out of social gatherings.  _ Aw, they’re gonna have a date night! It’s fine you guys, we’ll catch you at practice! _ Cut to Ian and Mandy snuggled up on the couch with Debbie and Liam, Carl and Fiona playing Battleship in front of the TV that was showing Mandy’s copy of “Clueless”, all of them stuffing their faces with cheddar-y popcorn and White Castle.

The idea that Ian now had not one but two places he could escape to and avoid the stresses of the “real world” was an odd comfort, but one he embraced enthusiastically. The Milkoviches were  _ fun _ , like truly, genuinely fun to be around. The dynamic between the four siblings was endlessly entertaining. 

Mickey was essentially a grumpy dad, by far the most responsible of the four despite being the second youngest and the only one who had ever served hard time. He liked 70s and 80s rock music, old movies, and classic cars. He pinched the bridge of his nose when he was annoyed and unironically wore these dorky sweaters when he got cold, which he often did, something that Ian had only learned about the week prior. The rapidly dropping temperatures, a staple of a Chicago autumn, made the basement intensely damp and frigid overnight. Ian and Mandy snuggled up in matching plain zip-up hoodies, Ian’s light gray and Mandy’s a dark purple. Iggy and Colin wore multicolored Baja surf ponchos, which Ian  _ hoped _ was ironic. Mickey had retreated to his bedroom after complaining that the cold was making his fingers stiff and therefore impeding his ability to play his guitar. He returned wearing a black sweater with a green, red, and white pattern all over it that resembled a bus seat.

Ian was drinking his pop when Mickey emerged from the hallway and came into view. The sight of Mickey in a sweater that could easily belong to anybody’s golf-loving dad made Ian snort-laugh and sent Orange Crush up into his nose. It burned like a bitch and made Ian’s eyes tear up. He grabbed a napkin from beside the spread of Chinese takeout that had been strewn across the floor where he and his new friends were sprawled. Blowing his nose and wiping his eyes, he composed himself and looked over towards Mickey, the guitar slung over his shoulder and resting gently against his middle, his fingers on the strings positioned to play a “G” chord.

“You good, Gallagher?” he asked, shooting Ian a suspicious look. Ian waved his hand in the air, a mannerism he had unintentionally picked up from spending so much time with Mandy and Mickey.

“Fine,” Ian managed, sniffling a little, his eyes stinging like they did after a long cry or a bout of stomach-splitting laughter.

Mandy had asked him later what was so funny, and when he explained his surprise at seeing Mickey in a “dad” sweater (especially after seeing him exclusively wear band tees and jeans every time Ian was over) Mandy laughed hysterically before telling him that she was glad he saw it too.

“See what?”

“How he’s basically a middle-aged dad. Like, the way he acts and talks and the shit he likes. He’s been like that since he was fucking  _ five _ , like an old man trapped in a child’s body. And it’s only gotten worse as he’s gotten older.” She giggled to herself, that wistful nostalgic look in her eyes.

“Just wait,” Ian teased. “He’ll be yelling at kids to get off his lawn and waiting by the mailbox for his AARP card any day now.”

Mandy found that hilarious and burst into another fit of laughter.

She wasn’t intentionally trying to squash Ian’s crush on Mickey, even though Ian already found Mickey’s perpetual low-level grumpiness endearing rather than offputting. She did, however, know Ian’s “tells” really well by this point, and did her best to help him hide them. If Ian’s ears started going red, she knew a fully flushed face wasn’t far behind. In those instances, she would make an excuse for her and Ian to leave the room, either sprinting towards Mandy’s room at the end of the hall so Ian could compose himself, or going upstairs and on to the porch for some fresh air. Truthfully, Mandy found Ian’s crush on Mickey adorable.

They were outside on the front porch after one such instance on the last Tuesday in September, passing a joint back and forth between them, the air crisp and refreshing but not unbearably cold just yet. The sun was setting and the air was growing chillier by the minute. It wasn’t the temperature outside that had made the basement so uncomfortable, but rather the way the concrete floor held in the chill, despite being covered in literally dozens of rugs, all mismatched and with different thicknesses, overlapping awkwardly in some places and causing Ian or one of the Milkoviches to trip every once in a while. Still, moving the rugs meant moving everything on top of the rugs, and that was an endeavor that exactly zero of them wanted to undertake.

They were chatting about Mandy’s plans to re-decorate her bedroom next month when Mickey joined them on the porch, sans dad sweater but dressed in gray-wash jeans, a well-worn AC/DC t-shirt, his leather jacket, and the same grimey white All Stars he had worn the day he got home from prison.

“I’m running to the 7-11 real quick,” he said, his hair unkempt and floppy.

“You look like you’re due for a haircut,” Mandy said, flashing a shit-eating grin at her brother.

“You look like you’re due for a lobotomy,” he snapped back before hopping down the stairs and walking off towards Cermak.

“Assface!” she yelled after him. Mickey threw up his hand behind his head and flipped her off. She shot a middle finger right back, even though his back was turned and he definitely didn’t see it. Mandy grinned and seamlessly slid back into her conversation with Ian.

“Anyway, I was thinking I’m too old for pink, as much as I love pink, so purple is the next logical step. Plus it would match the door, or at least compliment it.” She continued on about paint colors for a few minutes and Ian sat there, nodding, puffing away at the joint. He felt his eyes getting dryer, his eyelids growing heavier. He started shivering, like he always did when he was even the slightest bit stoned.

Mandy noticed Ian’s sudden shakes and dragged him back inside.

Once they warmed up, they planted themselves on the couches in the living room and turned on the TV. High and happy, they watched “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” for about an hour until Mickey came ambling through the door.

“Took you long enough,” Mandy muttered at her brother, her head resting on the back of the couch and her legs resting across Ian’s lap.

“Fuck off,” he said, putting a black plastic bag down on the dining room table. From the bag he pulled ten Swisher Sweets in a variety of flavors, a bottle of Burnett’s vodka, several candy bars, and a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos.

“Jesus, Mickey, is that all?” Mandy said, her voice quieter and more monotone because of her light high. “Can I get you some shrooms or a rock to go with that?”

Ian snort-laughed, the weed making his inhibitions practically non-existent. He had grown increasingly comfortable in the Milkovich house and, despite his ever-growing crush on Mickey, was also growing more comfortable being  _ truly  _ chilled out around the Milkovich brothers. Mandy had already stripped away all his anxieties in regards to their relationship, and the other Milkoviches were doing the same, slowly, unintentionally, but enough so that Ian’s nervousness faded more and more each day.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Mickey said, lighting up a cigarette and stomping to his room, where the sound of a slamming door was immediately followed by the unmistakeable intro to “The Trooper” by Iron Maiden. The volume shook the walls, and Mandy rolled her eyes.

“What’s with him today?” Ian asked, not all that bothered by the music. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the show, too distracted by the thought of Mickey’s front teeth pressed against his bottom lip while he executed yet another perfect guitar solo. He honestly didn’t think he’d ever heard Mickey play the wrong note.

Mandy waved her hand in the air.

“I dunno, he’s on the rag or some shit. Been in a mood since before I left for school.” They had a half-day (budget cuts) and were able to move cheer practice to 12 instead of 2, landing them on the Milkovich steps two hours earlier than usual. They had been alternating between the Gallagher and Milkovich houses, switching between the two every other day. Today was a Milkovich day, which meant weed and music and video games, three things Ian had grown to greatly enjoy.

Ian snickered at Mandy’s answer and turned back to the TV, not paying attention at all but rather listening to the music coming from Mickey’s room, straining his ears to see if he could hear him moving around at all. Aside from the brief squeaking of mattress coils as he presumably flopped down on his bed, the music was the only sound coming from his room.

He didn’t like the idea that Mickey was in a bad mood. Yes, he was usually a bit of a grump regardless of the situation, but he always seemed to be in a generally decent mood. Today was a strange departure from the Mickey that Ian had begun to know in the last month. 

Ian contemplated for a moment, the weed making him feel uninhibited and bold. He moved Mandy’s legs off of his lap and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Mandy asked, scooting up on the couch to a more comfortable position.

“One sec,” he replied as Mandy remained fixated on the TV.

Ian made his way over to Mickey’s bedroom door, the duct tape on the “Stay the FUCK out!” sign curling up at the edges, losing its stickiness with the passage of time. He knocked gently on the door.

After a moment, the door cracked open and he was face-to-face with Mickey, a cigarette between his lips and his eyebrows a mile high.

“What?” he said in a harsh voice as he opened the door. Upon seeing Ian, he let out an “oh,” and rolled his eyes ever so slightly. “What do you want, Gallagher?”

“Oh, uh, sorry.” He stuttered, pausing for a moment while Mickey stared at him, his usually bright and clear eyes clouded with something unrecognizable, something dark. “Mandy just wanted to know if you were down for a practice session tonight.”

Upon hearing her name, Mandy perked up on the couch and turned her head.

“I want what?” She asked. Ian shushed her and she rolled her eyes with a smirk and settled back down into her seat.

“Not in the mood,” Mickey said, his voice still harsh but less so than before.

“You sure?” Ian asked, voice soft. They were so close, the smoke from Mickey’s cigarette wafted up into Ian’s nose. He didn’t mind it one bit.

“Yeah,” he said, his harsh tone now all but gone. Instead, he sounded defeated, frustrated even, not quite grumpy per say, but definitely in the general area.

_ Distressed _ . That was it. Mickey was behaving as if something weighed heavy on his mind. Ian knew that wallowing alone in your misery only bred more misery, and he was determined to get Mickey out of his room and down to the basement, where he always seemed to be his happiest.

They stood there for a moment, Ian wracking his brain for a viable excuse to get Mickey downstairs. Iggy and Colin were at “work”, whatever that was, Ian didn’t know, and wouldn’t be back for several more hours. It was just the three of them at the house, the basement sitting empty and silent, which felt wrong.

“You think Colin would mind if I messed around with his keyboard?” Ian said, knowing fully well that Colin would disembowel him if he touched his equipment. He’d reminded Ian of that on multiple occasions, the last one only two days before when Ian was over by the milk crates, rifling through one of them when his foot accidentally knocked one of the many cords plugged in to the mixer out of its port. It was the only time Ian had ever felt truly intimidated by Colin, who was usually the most chill of the four siblings. The only thing that riled him up was the idea of someone messing with his equipment.

Mickey knew this too, and bit his lip to suppress the half-smile that spread across his lips. No doubt he was imagining Colin going off on Ian over screwing with his things.

“Yeah, I think he might mind,” Mickey said, his attempts to hide the smile futile. He grinned, then rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, opening the door all the way and stepping out of his room. Ian tried to sneak a peek inside before Mickey slammed the door but failed, only the brief flash of a bed with a cream-colored comforter and a black fleece blanket thrown across it.

Once the door was closed, he brushed past Ian on his way to the basement. Mandy sat up, looking confused.

“Did Mickey just go to the basement?” she asked Ian, her eyes puffy and heavy.

“Yep,” Ian said, smiling.

“How the fuck did you manage that? He never leaves his room when he’s in a mood.”

Ian shrugged, then started making his way downstairs. Mandy followed, and soon Ian and the two youngest Milkoviches were in the basement, the siblings tuning up their instruments and Ian sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, watching the transformation in progress.

It was truly remarkable, the contrast between the Milkoviches on the streets and the Milkoviches in the basement. All of the intimidation they had cultivated over literal decades of neighborhood mischief and thievery seemed to melt away, replaced instead with a feeling of admiration and fascination. It was like being at a concert and tilting your head up to watch the artist on stage, hoping that for one second, just a fleeting moment, they would look down at you and acknowledge your existence with a wave or a wink. 

Ian was in truly awe of the siblings, if you wanted to be cut and dry about it. He watched them like a moon-eyed teenager. He  _ was _ a moon-eyed teenager. His crush on Mickey had done nothing but grow exponentially with every after-school hangout, every impromptu jam session, every casual song suggestion or compliment disguised as an insult in a way only Mickey could pull off. He was deeply sarcastic and wildly charismatic and made Ian’s heart leap into his throat and his stomach flip in a way that was definitely, certainly,  _ positively  _ not unpleasant.

When they finished adjusting their guitars, they bickered for a minute about what to play.

“Okay, okay, okay, how about this? You pick the band or artist, I pick the song.” Mandy raised her eyebrows as she offered a compromise to her brother.

“That’s not fair, you’ve got that giant filing cabinet brain,” Mickey replied, referring to Mandy’s ultimate party trick. She had a memory like a steel trap, in the sense that she could listen to a song one time and immediately have the lyrics memorized. She was practically failing English because she couldn’t recall what happened in Act Three Scene One of Macbeth, despite reading it the night before, but ask her to recite the chorus from quite literally any song and she could do it. It was the wildest thing Ian had ever seen. 

“So what? Why does that matter?” Mandy said, patting her fingers against the strings of her bass. The gentle  _ wub-wub-wub _ of the tapping reverberated from the amp.

“Because you’ll intentionally pick the worst song,” he said.

Mandy smirked. That was definitely something she  _ would _ do, but she wasn’t feeling particularly impish today.

“Promise I’ll pick something decent,” she said, holding out her pinky finger to Mickey. He contemplated, his gaze jumping from Mandy’s pinky to her eyes and then over to Ian, who watched the two of them intently while simultaneously pretending to be interested in the Rolling Stone magazine he held open in front of himself. He hadn’t read a single word of it, and they’d been down there for six whole minutes.

Mickey grumbled. “Fine.” He glanced over at Ian once more, hesitant, before linking his pinky with Mandy’s and leaning towards his sister as they both bent over and kissed their thumbs before pressing them together. Ian smiled, knowing that this was Mickey and Mandy’s “thing” long before it was Ian and Mandy’s thing. Mickey shot a glance in his direction, a weakly intimidating expression on his face. Ian knew Mickey wanted to point a finger in his face and tell him that if he ever told anybody about what he and Mandy just did he’d chop his dick off, but he also knew that Mickey was well-aware of Ian’s ability to be tight-lipped. It was a Gallagher thing  _ and _ a Milkovich thing, the ability to keep secrets. In fact, they excelled in it.

Mandy clapped her hands, breaking Ian away from his thoughts.

“Alright asshole, band, now. Cough it up.” She snapped her finger in Mickey’s face. He grumbled for a moment or two before deciding.

“Guns N’ Roses,” he said definitively, folding his arms across his chest and resting them on the top of his guitar.

“Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Mandy said instantly.

“Damn, okay,” Mickey said, still impressed by Mandy’s rapid music knowledge recall. “Deal.”

Within seconds, Mickey was playing the opening notes of the guitar-heavy song, perfect for an afternoon without their drummer and keyboardist/sound engineer.

Ian sat there watching as Mickey’s fingers moved swiftly along the strings, strumming out a familiar melody that vibrated through the room. His face was focused only on the guitar, only relaxing when Mandy started singing and the song slowed.

> _ “She's got a smile that it seems to me reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky. Now and then when I see her face, she takes me away to that special place, and if I stare too long, I'd probably break down and cry…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1w7OgIMMRc4&ab_channel=GunsNRosesVEVO)) _

As Mandy broke into the chorus, Mickey’s playing sped up once again, and he leaned up on his toes as he lifted the guitar slightly during the riff.

Ian had left his duffel downstairs next to the couch before he and Mandy had gone out on the porch. He reached inside of it, grabbed his camera that was already loaded with film, and snapped a picture of [Mickey from the knees down](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/645759902822858753/mickey-milkovich-and-his-grimey-white-all-stars), focusing on his tiptoed and stained converse rather than Mickey himself. He snapped another one of the two of them playing, but he was doubtful it would come out as anything other than a black and purple blob. His camera was still in great shape, but it was too old and out of date to capture clear photos of moving objects, so even the slightest motion would blur the picture. If they noticed him taking their picture, neither Mickey nor Mandy acknowledged it, both of them completely focused on the complicated movement of their fingers on their instruments.

Ian grinned, put the camera back in his bag, and watched, moon-eyed, as the two siblings finished the song on a strong down beat, letting the sound hang in the air. Once the reverb faded, Ian gave the two of them a golf-clap, something he had been doing for a week or so that made Mandy cackle.

She flipped him off with a huge smile on her face, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled.

“Get any good ones?” she asked, slightly out of breath from their little performance. She gestured towards Ian’s bag, which was still unzipped, his camera visible and obvious in the mostly-empty bag.

Ian felt the heat creep up in his cheeks. He knew Mandy liked having her picture taken spontaneously, if only by Ian and nobody else. His family was made up of a bunch of hams, cheesing it up for the camera at any given opportunity. It dawned on him, though, that he had no idea how Mickey felt about pictures. What if he was one of those people that freaked out when they had their picture taken? If he was, how had the photo under Ian’s mattress, tucked inside Mandy’s left-behind Tiger Beat magazine, come to exist? He was either comfortable with his photo being taken in general, or he was like Mandy, where it was fine if the right person took the picture but nobody else. Since they were essentially twins in every way except by birth, Ian felt inclined to assume that Mickey probably shared Mandy’s sentiments towards candids.

“Uh,” he murmured, his voice stalling. “Uh, yeah, I think so. That’s cool right?” Ian’s voice was fraught with hesitation.

Mandy nodded, obviously fine with it, and Ian’s eyes shot to Mickey, who was tap-tap-tapping his fingers on the strings. Mickey surprised Ian when he shrugged his shoulders but grinned this crooked little smile that made Ian’s stomach twist in the best possible way.

“S’cool,” he said, taking his guitar off and setting it down gently against the crates before heading over to the mini fridge, where he grabbed three pops. By this point, Mickey knew what Ian preferred when it came to sodas, and Mandy made sure to always keep a few extra root beers in the fridge for Ian. Mickey wasn’t a fan, and instead preferred Sprite, 7-Up, or “something in that genre”. Today they had Mug Root Beer and Sprite, and Mickey tossed the cans with the silly bulldog logo at Mandy and then at Ian, both of them catching the cans with ease.

“Cool,” Ian said in response, and for once his short-but-sweet reply didn’t feel awkward or out of place. Mickey simply grinned, popping the tab on his soda with a  _ hissss-CRACK!  _

They hung out for a few more hours until the digital clock hanging on the wall read 9:58pm and Ian realized he needed to get home. He quickly finished the soda he’d been drinking, his second one, then tossed the can in the wastepaper basket.

After a squeeze from Mandy and a chin-nod-eyebrow-raise from Mickey, Ian made his way up the stairs, out of the house, and down the street. As he approached his house, he saw the warm light from the living room glowing through the dark green curtains Fiona had bought last February as a birthday gift to herself. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. He had spent the evening with his best friend and the boy that he couldn’t get out of his head no matter how hard he tried. He’d listened to them play music, mediated their frequent bouts of sibling bickering, and laughed more than he had in a long time. He had another potential photo of Mickey on his camera roll, waiting to be developed, and it was already a given that he would be back over there in a few days. 

They had started settling into a comfortable routine as the school year dredged on, slow and boring, painfully restrictive of their time, yet Ian had never felt so content.

**Kroger (West 47th, Back of the Yards) October 4, 1999**

Mandy and Ian wandered through the aisles of the grocery store, filling the cart with chips, cookies, and any other snacks they could get their hands on. Mandy tossed in a box of fruit gushers.

“Nice choice,” Ian said, elbowing Mandy’s arm.

“Only the best for the best,” she said, nudging him right back. Mandy pushed the cart forward as Ian walked behind her, scanning the aisle for Sour Patch Kids.

Suddenly, Debbie came barrelling around the corner.

“Mandy! I found the cake I want!” she exclaimed, dancing on her tiptoes, her little pink dress swaying against her oversized green jacket.

“Oooh! Show me!” Mandy said, genuinely excited. She sped up, pushing the cart around the corner of the aisle and following Debbie into the bakery section.

In a refrigerated case there were eight large sheet cakes. Ian knew immediately which one Debbie was going to ask for. The label said “Chocolate Mint Ice Cream Cake”. It was light green and covered with large chocolate curls and a decorative chocolate drizzle. Ian and Debbie shared a love of anything mint chocolate flavored, and he wasn’t going to put up any fight if that’s what Debbie wanted. She pointed at the cake, Mandy nodded, and before Ian could say “Happy Birthday Debbie”, the cake was out of the case. The bakery attendant made casual conversation as she slid the cake into the protective plastic container.

“So is today your birthday?” she asked Debbie.

“No, it’s tomorrow,” she replied sweetly, twirling her hair around in her fingers and looking down at the tile floor. Debbie wasn’t really a shy kid, but she had a tendency to act that way around non-familial adults.

“How old are you turning?”

“Thirteen.”

“Wow, that’s a big one! Do you know what you’re going to wish for yet?” the attendant asked as she set the cake on the top of the case for Ian to grab. He placed it gently in the cart after moving the rest of their snacks to the side.

Debbie shook her head no, a contemplative look on her face. She glanced up at the attendant.

“Got any suggestions?” she asked, and the woman laughed.

“I usually just wish for everyone I love to be happy and healthy,” she replied.

“That’s boring,” Debbie said without missing a beat. The attendant threw back her head and laughed, finding Debbie’s unfiltered remark hysterical. Ian grabbed Debbie’s shoulder.

“Debbie, that’s rude,” he said as he leaned down so they were eye level with one another.

The attendant wiped the side of her eye. “It’s fine,” she said, and she obviously meant it by the amused look on her face.

They wrapped up at the bakery before heading to the frozen food section for corn dogs and ice cream. On the way there, Ian unzipped his duffel that he’d brought to carry their groceries. He’d forgotten to take out his walkman and his camera, but was immediately thankful that he didn’t. As Debbie skipped through the store, her pink dress and green coat bouncing with every step, Ian [snapped a picture of his littlest sister](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/645759910829817856/debbie-at-kroger-the-day-before-her-13th-birthday). Debbie didn’t notice since the flash wasn’t on, but Mandy did, and she smiled at Ian.

“You should print that and give it to her as a gift,” she said, and Ian nodded in agreement.

After grabbing the rest of what was on their list, they made their way to the checkout line. Once all of the treats and the cake were paid for and their nine coupons were scanned, the three of them walked the six blocks back to the Gallagher house. They climbed the steps, Ian taking them two by two despite the weight of his now-full duffel, and made their way through the entryway and the living room and into the kitchen where they played an impromptu game of real-life tetris trying to get the cake to fit in the freezer.

Once all the groceries had been put away, they settled in, Mandy making sure Debbie was working on her math homework and Ian helping Carl study for his vocabulary test.

“Influence,” Ian said, flipping over a notecard so that only he could read the definition.

“Something you can be under,” Carl said without a hint of sarcasm.

“ _ Carl, _ ” Ian scolded. His brother rolled his eyes before giving the correct definition.

After homework was finished, dinner was eaten, baths and showers were taken, and pajamas were put on, The Gallagher kids settled in to watch a movie just as Fiona got home. She quickly changed into a pair of track pants and a plain white t-shirt with a navy blue pocket on the chest.

They took their usual places around the room and began munching on popcorn as the opening sequence of “The Little Mermaid” began playing on the screen, Debbie’s wholly appropriate choice for her last movie as a 12-year-old.

**The Gallagher House (2119 North Wallace), October 5, 1999**

Debbie’s birthday was on a Tuesday, so in lieu of a party, they had opted for a small family gathering. Since Lip wasn’t able to make the train ride there and back for only one night, they planned to have a slightly larger celebration the following weekend, when he’d be able to come home for more than a few measly hours. He’d called the house that morning and wished her a happy birthday, and Debbie insisted that he bring her home a CPU sweatshirt as a birthday present. He had chuckled, static crackling in the phone under his exhalations, and promised that he would.

The mini party consisted of Fiona, Ian, Mandy, Debbie, Carl, Liam, Debbie’s best friend Anna from school who lived down the block, their neighbors - and Fiona’s best friends - Kev and V, and Carl’s new girlfriend, Bonnie. They played music on Debbie’s boombox, Fiona slipped Ian and Mandy two glasses of wine, and the whole affair was bright and cheerful in a way that only a Gallagher party could be. 

As he sat in the living room, he watched Mandy, Debbie, and Anna sing along to “Africa” by TOTO while kneeling on the floor, using the coffee table as a makeshift drum and screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Carl and Bonnie sat snuggled up on the armchair, giving each other these tiny, innocent preteen kisses when they thought nobody was looking. Ian couldn’t wait to tease him about it later, given that Carl had done nothing but give Ian and Mandy shit about “PDA” for the past year and a half.

After about an hour, it was time for cake and presents. The gang made their way into the kitchen, where Fiona had stuck 13 candles on top of the ice cream cake. She balanced it skillfully in her hands, moving it from the counter to the kitchen table. At some point in the evening, she’d put on a ridiculous hat shaped like a birthday cake at Debbie’s request, since nobody could say no to the birthday girl. Everyone gathered around and started singing. 

Debbie smiled and giggled as the song came to an end, Fiona and V holding out the final note to make for a dramatic conclusion. Debbie leaned over and blew out the candles. Mandy, who had grabbed Ian’s camera from his room earlier that night, [snapped a photo](https://iansphotobook.tumblr.com/post/645759918463434752/debbie-blowing-out-the-candles-on-her-13th) just before Debbie’s  _ whoosh! _ extinguished the flames. Ian looked over at Mandy, who met his gaze with a grin and a wink. She passed the camera back to him and went to go get a knife to help cut the cake.

After cake and ice cream, Debbie opened her presents, which consisted mostly of new clothes for school and what Fiona called “beginner’s makeup” - a blush compact, Great Lash mascara, clear lip gloss, and an eyeshadow palette with 3 shades of light brown and 3 vibrant pinks. Kev and V’s gift was a pair of black All Stars, identical to the pair Mandy often wore. Anna gave her a paperback copy of “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets”, and Ian had put together a mini photo book filled with pictures he had taken of Debbie, himself, Mandy, and the rest of the Gallaghers over the past year.

Debbie insisted on opening Mandy’s gift last. She ripped off the wrapping paper, this shiny pink metallic stuff that had caught Mandy’s eye at the dollar store, to reveal a CD case with “Debbie’s Mix” written on the cover in swirly handwriting, a pink heart over the “i”. Debbie popped open the case to find a list of 20 songs written on the paper insert, the CD itself decorated with doodles of funky 60s-inspired flowers and swirls, not dissimilar from the flourishes Mandy had drawn on Mickey’s “Welcome Home Felon” banner.

“No way!” Debbie exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. She’d been  _ begging _ Mandy for her own mix, as she’d taken to stealing Ian’s CDs from his room when he was at the Milkovich house.

“It’s all your favorites and a few surprises,” Mandy said, winking and smiling at Debbie. Debbie leaned over and wrapped her arms around Mandy’s shoulders. Mandy hugged her back, the two of them swaying back and forth for a moment before letting go.

Debbie put in the CD immediately, practically sprinting to her boombox in the living room. 

The first song was one they all knew and loved, namely “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey. Fiona scooped up Liam and began swaying back and forth with him, the 4-year-old giggling and pressing his face against his sister’s neck. Ian and Mandy, along with Debbie, Carl, Anna, and Bonnie, played air guitars as the song started to pick up. Kev twirled V around as if they were ballroom dancing, her braids flying through the air as she threw her head back and laughed.

“Nothing gets white folks going like Journey!” she said, prompting Fiona to stick out her tongue at her best friend, the childish display of petulance making everyone laugh.

> _ “A singer in a smokey room, the smell of wine and cheap perfume, for a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on, and on, and on…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k8craCGpgs&ab_channel=journeyVEVO)) _

Next up was “What’s My Age Again?” by Blink-182, which was sort of an inside joke between Mandy, Debbie, and Fiona. When they got to the first chorus, Mandy and Debbie screamed “ _ nobody likes you when you’re twenty-three _ ” directly at Fiona, who flipped both of them off with a smile, knowing that the joke would only work for another four months and letting them get their kicks while they still could.

“Hey,” Mandy said, nudging Debbie with her shoulder. “Play track 7.”  
Debbie got up and pressed the “next” button on the boombox until the display read “07”. Immediately, Ian recognized the tune. The guitar played a familiar progression, everyone in the room expecting nothing other than to sway loosely to Oasis’ “Wonderwall”. Instead, confused expressions overtook everyone’s faces when a woman’s voice started playing through the speakers.

“Wait,” Debbie said, her eyebrows furrowed as she listened. “Is this a cover? Doesn’t a guy sing this song?”

Mandy nodded, smirking, sipping from the wine glass she had left on the coffee table earlier.

“Whose cover?” she asked, and Mandy smirked.

Suddenly, it clicked.

“Wait, is it you?” Debbie said, a huge grin spreading across her face. It wasn’t until a few weeks prior that Mandy had brought up anything about the Milkovich basement jam sessions, shocking the hell out of Fiona when she mentioned her brothers, the concept of the notorious Southside thugs as secret musicians apparently impossible to reconcile in her mind.

Nobody but Ian had heard the Milkoviches play as a group, at least not recently, but Mandy had sung to Debbie on multiple occasions while painting her nails, braiding her hair, or pouring over a Tiger Beat together on Debbie’s bed. Still, the sound of Mandy’s voice and her brothers’ playing coming through the speakers like any other song on the CD took all of the Gallaghers, including Ian, by surprise.

“Wait,” he said, “how are we hearing this right now? How did you record this?”

Mandy giggled.

“Colin, obviously. What do you think all that equipment is for?”

Ian thought back to a month ago, when he realized that Colin and Iggy were recording themselves on the mixer. In theory, the Milkoviches had a fully functional, albeit low-grade recording studio in their basement. Hang up a few blankets on the walls for soundproofing and they were golden. He didn’t know why that information hadn’t processed for him until just now.

Mandy’s raspy soprano climbed when the chorus hit, and she and Debbie sang along.

> _ “Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me. And after all, you're my wonderwall…” ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bx1Bh8ZvH84&ab_channel=OasisVEVO)) _

On “ _ saves me _ ”, Mandy looked over her shoulder at Ian with soft eyes, flashing a smile that made his heart warm. He knew exactly why she chose that moment to flash a grin at her “boyfriend”, and it wasn’t to keep up appearances.

They  _ had _ kind of saved each other in a weird sort of way, hadn’t they? He smiled, if only to himself, and watched as Mandy wrapped her arms around Debbie and pulled her into her lap, swaying back and forth together, singing along with the CD.

When the song ended, Fiona, Kev, V, and the rest of the kids applauded, Kevin letting out a “whoop whoop!” that was eerily reminiscent of Iggy’s.

“Thank you, thank you,” Mandy said, standing up from where she sat and taking a tiny bow. 

Immediately, Fiona and V started giving Mandy the third degree. How long had she been singing? What other songs did she know? Why hadn’t she mentioned this before? What instruments did her brothers play?

“Well, I sing and play the bass, Mickey plays guitar, Iggy plays the drums, and Colin plays the keyboard but is sort of a jack-of-all-trades kinda guy. He’s basically a sound engineer,” she said, beaming with pride when talking about her brothers.

“I can’t picture even  _ one _ of your brothers playing anything other than a recorder,” Fiona laughed, obviously recalling when she and Colin were 8 years old and in the same music class, forced to learn “Hot Cross Buns” as all of the Gallagher and Milkovich siblings had done when they reached third grade. Ian always seemed to forget that Colin and Fiona had gone to school together and, ironically enough, had a lot of mutual friends in high school. In fact, he knew for certain that Fiona would have recognized at least half of the people that crashed Mickey’s party back in August. 

“Oh they do,” Mandy said to Fiona regarding her brothers’ musical abilities, her tone matter-of-fact. “Very much so, actually. It’s literally all they’ve been doing since Mickey got out.”

Fiona’s face looked as if someone had just told her they had a unicycle-riding chimpanzee out in the front yard. Ian could see her trying to visualize a Milkovich family band in her mind’s eye and failing. He laughed under his breath as Liam climbed on to his lap for a cuddle.

“So do you guys play your own stuff or just covers?” Fiona asked, sipping from a drink that V had brought her from the kitchen.

Mandy shrugged.

“Both, I guess? Not much of our own stuff lately but yeah, definitely in the past.” This was news to Ian, who hadn’t really bothered to ask much about the history behind the Milkovich family band, focusing instead on the present. Specifically, the dark-haired, blue-eyed boy that bit his lip while he played, occasionally making casual eye contact while he strummed out a melody and sent Ian’s heart into his throat. 

“Actually,” Mandy continued, pausing to turn to Ian. “Ian doesn’t even know this, but when we were younger, I think I was probably 11, we got it in our heads that we were going to be these  _ huge _ rockstars and should be prepared just in case. So we made up a band name and recorded ourselves on Colin’s little tape player. I even made us all matching shirts,” she said, snickering to herself. “It was hilarious.”

“What was the name?” Debbie piped up from where she sat, watching Mandy intently as she talked about her childhood to someone other than Ian for what was probably the first time ever.

Mandy hesitated.

“You can’t laugh,” she said, pointing her finger right in between Debbie’s eyes. Debbie grinned and crossed her heart.

“It’s a little embarrassing, but we called ourselves ‘Spilled Milk’. You know, Milk, Milkovich, and the expression and such.” Ian saw just the faintest hint of blush on her cheeks.

“I love it!” Debbie said, her face overtaken by another ear-to-ear smile.

“That’s actually pretty clever,” Kev said, chugging the rest of his beer and crushing the can in his fist.

Mandy grinned and continued on, talking about how she had lifted fabric pens from the craft store and made herself and her brothers the matching band tees, which were now apparently stuffed in a box of keepsakes beneath her bed.

Fiona, V, and Debbie had tons more questions, and chatted with Mandy for the rest of the evening. Eventually, the CD reached the end of the tracklist, and Mandy shushed everyone.

As Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” faded out, the CD skipped and suddenly, there were familiar voices coming from the boombox. A voice he recognized as Mandy’s was shushing someone, before all four of the Milkovich siblings shouted “Happy Birthday Debbie!” which was quickly followed by the sound of Mickey playing the happy birthday song on the guitar. When he finished, Mandy said, “We love you!” before the CD skipped again and started back at the beginning.

Debbie threw her arms around Mandy and buried her face in her hair. Mandy ran a hand along the back of her head, letting Debbie cling to her for as long as she wanted.

When the party wrapped up and all of the non-Gallaghers, save for Mandy, had left the house, Fiona began collecting cups and plates from around the kitchen and living room, tossing them in the sink that had been filled with hot, soapy water. Ian and Mandy helped her pick up a bit before taking Liam, Carl, and Debbie upstairs to get in to their pajamas. It was a school night, after all.

Once the kids were in bed, Fiona went to the bathroom to shower. Ian and Mandy made their way back down the stairs and plopped down on the couch, surprisingly tired from the night’s festivities.

“Hey,” Ian said, poking Mandy in the ribs.

“What’s up?” she said, poking him right back.

“I just wanted to say thanks. For Debbie’s gift. I think it’s probably her favorite present from any birthday ever, and that’s including the year she got an American Girl Doll from V.”

Mandy smiled.

“I love her so goddamn much,” she said. “She’s like the little sister I never had.”

Mandy leaned in and rested her head on Ian’s shoulder. They were quiet for a minute, only the sounds of the running shower and a passing ambulance punctuating the silence.

“So,” Ian said, thinking for a moment before he spoke again. “Spilled Milk?”

“Oh fuck off,” Mandy giggled, reaching up to grab at Ian’s hair.

“Ow!” he exclaimed when she grabbed a longer portion in her tiny fist and yanked. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it! I like it! I really do!” he protested, until Mandy released his hair with a smirk and a gentle whack upside Ian’s head.

“Don’t make fun,” she said, pointing her finger between Ian’s eyes as he had seen her do with both Mickey and Debbie.

“I swear I’m not,” Ian said, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth down the parts Mandy had snatched. “I swear to God, I like it.”

“You better,” she said. “Boyfriends are supposed to be unconditionally supportive of their girlfriends’ hobbies, right?” Ian laughed at that. 

Not too much later, Mandy was bouncing down the stairs and disappearing into the alley behind the Gallagher house. Once he was sure she was well on her way towards South Trumbull, he snuck back inside and sat down next to Debbie’s boombox. He pressed the “next” button until the display said “21”, then pressed play.

He listened to the final track three times, the Milkoviches wishing Debbie a happy birthday, followed by Mickey’s rendition of the birthday song, and rounded out with Mandy’s sweet message to Debbie.

Ian lost himself for a moment, imagining what Mickey looked like as he played the silly 20-second song on what sounded like his acoustic guitar, the one Ian had yet to see him play. He thought about how his hair flopped over onto his forehead, how he’d stick out his tongue just a bit when he was extra focused, and how he’d probably fought Mandy about the recording before eventually giving in.

He was about to press play for a fourth time when Fiona appeared on the stairs, a twisted towel balanced on to the top of her head, the shoulders of her oversized light blue sleep shirt slightly damp from where her hair must have sat before she wrapped it up.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, and Ian nearly leapt out of his skin. He pressed the button with the black square on it twice, effectively stopping the CD before it could play the track again.

“Little jumpy?” she teased. Ian rolled his eyes and stood up from where he sat, yawning dramatically.

“Nah, just tired. Gonna go to sleep,” he said, giving Fiona a quick hug before heading upstairs. She gave him a curious look, obviously wondering why he’d been so startled when she came down the stairs. Ian didn’t give her an opportunity to interrogate him, flying up the stairs two by two at record speed, careful not to slam the door when he made it to his bedroom.

One day, he’d tell Fiona his secret. He’d get up his nerve eventually, but tonight was not the night. He changed into a pair of fresh boxers, a blue and white checkered pair he’d stolen from Lip a few years back, and climbed into bed.

One day, he’d tell Fiona about his silly little crush on Mickey Milkovich and his floppy hair and his “FUCK U-UP” tattoos. One day, he’d tell her about how he’d listened to the last track of Debbie’s CD on repeat, just visualizing Mickey strumming the guitar and feeling his stomach twist in that feel-good sort of way. One day, he’d tell her everything. He didn’t know when that day would come, but as his crush on Mickey grew and it became more difficult to play off his behavior as “just nerves”, Ian suspected that it might be sooner than he expected. He stared at the ceiling and watched the shadows cast by Liam’s nightlight dance on the walls.

Not today. Not tonight. But soon.

Very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback! Find me on tumblr (thisaintmacys-bitch.tumblr.com) which is where I'll be posting updates regarding Chapter 4!
> 
> Sending love,  
> Macy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I can't wait to hear your comments, thoughts, and theories. A few notes as we move forward in to the next chapter in the coming weeks:
> 
> \- Pictures will be added to the photobook blog alongside the publication of each chapter, as well as sporadically between updates. Be sure to follow the account so you don't miss out on dirty little secrets & chapter previews.  
> \- As a child of the 90s, the majority of the references I use are from my own memories of growing up during that time. However, I've done extensive research to make my depiction of teenage life in the late 90s as accurate as possible. If ever you notice an inconsistency, please let me know!
> 
> Find me on tumblr (thisaintmacys-bitch.tumblr.com) and don't be afraid to leave your feedback in my inbox!
> 
> Sending love,  
> Macy


End file.
